The new Netflix hit series "Thirteen Reasons Why" has come into the spotlight with many, many people embracing its messages about sexual assault, bullying, self-harm, depression, and suicide. However, my recent binge on the show has not driven me to awareness about these topics. Unlike most, who have quoted the show on Twitter and Facebook to tell others that there is support available, I have begun to feel more and more alone, and this series has possibly come into my view at the worst possible time.

My fast-approaching escape from high school has put a lot of things into perspective. Like, a LOT. In the recent months, my communication with my biological mother has gone to literally zero, and though it seems like a shame, I am overjoyed. This joy does come with its consequences...Because the wool is no longer over my eyes, I have seen how truly 20/20 hindsight is. This lack of a mom has reminded me of second grade, when I was in a different school each day of my first week, all because my mother was angry over a court-ordered decision. It has reminded me of my freshman year of high school, when my mother didn't even stay for the bows of my first fall play ever, or when she didn't come to see my performance in the theatre showcase a month later. It has reminded me of my birth month that year, when I had to help her pack our entire house because she was moving to New Jersey. And it has reminded me that, at the most suicidal and depressed I have ever felt, she left me...the day before my birthday...and she didn't call for three weeks. No real goodbye, no "happy birthday," no, well, anything. The bitter taste you are probably feeling in the back of your palette is one which has only gotten more and more sour over the years. And now that I have dropped all communication with my mother, though it may upturn the corners of my lips, I have come full circle to that freshman January, without a call or text or anything from my "mom." No "happy birthday."

For as long as I can remember, I have always been gay. Even when I had a girlfriend in sixth grade, I was dumped after two months and I expressed to her "Girl, the feeling is mutual." Upon coming to terms with my sexuality and coming out to the world, I began to actually develop a love life of my own. The nearing end to my senior year has brought me through my year of perceived heartbreak, and I have come to understand a lot more about my own personal taste. I have realized how the charm of my first ex caused me to be hung up on that relationship, even after it ended. I've seen how my second and third exes were just covers for the empty feeling which I made myself feel because, of course, the first guy was "the one..." at least for a minute. Even the handful of guys who flirted with me and who I flirted with helped me find what I need in a partner. But my most recent attempt at a relationship has snowballed me into feeling more broken than I have ever felt, and this road to getting over it is a winding and treacherous one. I have found that I am a giver. I long to shower my partner with love beyond compare, talk about the stupid existential crap that everyone secretly wants to ask questions about, walk around the town aimlessly and shop for nothing at an outlet mall just to bond with whoever I am with, and send "good morning" texts until my thumbs go numb. However, this specific person doesn't feel that, in the long run (and I mean very long run), we would last, and he feels that pursuing anything romantic would only turn our relationship sour, even just as friends. But I fell hard, and once it turned from "talking" to "just friends," a crack deepened in my soul. And in the past few months with us trying to stay the best friends that we are, all the while trying to distance ourselves so we can heal, I have only fallen lower and lower, and the break in me just turned into more and more little pieces, seemingly irreparable. I can feel myself spiraling down, and though he says I am a great person and I've done nothing wrong, and though we are still in touch with no hard feelings, I would rather his move on and just be my friend while I take on the pain of two. For this, I can feel the self-hatred growing, ever so slowly, and it is coming to a head. The tiniest things make me feel terrible, about the loss of this relationship and about myself. Green heart emojis, Beauty and the Beast articles, old texts–these all chip away at my being ever so slightly.

I miss the old. Watching "Thirteen Reasons Why," I saw Hannah's pain as if it were my own, and every failed relationship throughout the thirteen episodes seemed to mirror my own, however unrelated it was.

"You can't love someone back to life."

In watching this series, I believe I am most kindred to Clay–a hopeless romantic who doesn't know how to love. I thought I did, and the absence of my mother has helped me in finding the ability to care for others as if I were a parent, as well as letting others become parents to me. I am not sure if I will heal from my lifetime of trauma, but with high school's caboose getting closer and closer on the tracks, I wish my first free summer will open me up to an entirely new life, allowing me to put the past where it belongs and renewing my friendships which I have distanced myself from, as if I were Hannah Baker. Unlike her, I cannot hide my true sadness behind "same old Hannah." I wear my heart on my sleeve, just like Clay, and though the support is out there, the loneliness only grows.