A/N: I do not own Spring Awakening.


These days I think I'm a complete wreck, and everyone else seems to as well. These nights my mind churns and I can never seem to fall asleep. When I do sleep, I have bad dreams. Dreams about things I can barely understand, dreams that frighten me in their opacity. You would think that, when I wake up, I would find thankful relief from the bad things that cloud my head. Instead, all these thoughts and fears seem to coalesce in my waking mind, leaving me nerve-wracked, sleepless, startled, and afraid of nearly everything.

I'm afraid of failing. Obsessively afraid. I'm terrified of my father finally finding out what I really am. I work hard at my schoolwork partly to assuage the thoughts of failure, partly to make all the other thoughts go away. It doesn't work; I can never concentrate. I make mistakes on the most maddeningly simple things which I know that I know, and I should know because I've studied them a hundred times, and yet whenever it comes to examinations I always get nerves and thoughts and distractions and I perform miserably. God knows I know the answers. But I'm so scared to fail that I paradoxically do. They all think I'm stupid, but I'm not. They don't know what goes on inside my head! On the other hand, I am so very glad that they don't. They would surely be horrified.

And the thoughts have been getting worse lately. I've tried to talk about it. I've told Melchi about my dreams, but I'm too scared to talk about my waking thoughts, my realities. Thoughts that I shouldn't be having. All Melchior ever tells me is that these thoughts are normal, that everyone has strange sexual dreams and thoughts sometimes, but he doesn't know them! I'm not supposed to think these things.

Even if I wanted to tell him, I could never bring myself to form the words necessary to give him examples. They are truly too shameful; he couldn't possibly understand. Sometimes, in the middle of class, I start thinking about what the teacher might look like naked—mind you, I don't want to think about it! It disturbs me. But the thoughts won't leave my mind. And sometimes, I even wonder about the other boys, about my friends, I look at them and I stare at their bodies and wonder. I wonder how many people Hänschen has had sex with, and what he looks like when he does it. I wonder if Ernst has ever masturbated. I wonder how big Melchior's penis is, and if it curves slightly to the left like mine does or if it points straight forward. Sometimes when we're studying and he's sitting close to me, I get other thoughts about Melchior. What if you were to kiss him? He's so close. You could lean in so easily and… And I fear so much that I almost will, even though the thought horrifies me and I know it's not what I want.

But then why do I think of it! I know I'm not a homosexual. I can't be. It's just these thoughts I have, these thoughts I can't control, these thoughts that disgust me! Just thinking of other boys naked doesn't make me aroused. I've only ever had crushes on girls, and when I read Melchior's essay I did want to experience it that way—with a woman. I've never wanted to have sex with a boy or even kiss a boy. And yet I wonder and I think about boys as well! Mustn't I be an invert? And yet, I know I'm not that way. But don't these thoughts mean that I am? The uncertainty drives me mad!

And I can hardly sleep at night, because the thoughts swarm my brain. I rehearse things over and over in my mind. Memories of past failures, and fears of future ones. Things that I know I will never do but I'm deathly afraid that I will. I get afraid that I'll start touching myself in the middle of class, or that I will hurt someone close to me. I fear that I will not be promoted, and I rehearse the conversation with my father over and over and practice what I might say if—no, more likely when—I have to explain to him that I've failed. And of course I can't help but remember all the times I have screwed up in this day, this week, this lifetime. Things I've done that I've never spoken of to anyone. The guilt eats through me. Compared to those thoughts, my other fears are comforting distractions. In any case, my mind gets stuck in a loop, never allowing itself to forget past failures, constantly ruminating on obsessions, clinging to the thoughts as if for dear life, as if I couldn't survive without them. I often wonder if perhaps I can't.

But I swear to you, I don't like them! I don't like these thoughts, they are scary and I try with all my might to push them from my mind but they follow me everywhere. There are days when I'd do anything to get these repulsive thoughts away from me. Sometimes I think I can even feel where they are in my brain; they cling to my skull just slightly forward of my temples. Sometimes it feels as if I could just claw them away or blast them out if only I dig deep enough. I'm ashamed to admit that I've scratched and struck at my face before, trying to tear the thoughts out. This technique has yet to work.

Sometimes I think I can't handle this anymore. I can't handle living in my own head. There's a pistol inside the top right-hand drawer of Father's desk, all the way in the back where he thinks no one can find it. I have. Every single night after they've all gone to bed I slide the drawer open and stare. I'm too terrified even to touch it. I have a wrenching feeling in my abdomen that if I even so much as pick it up, I will be immediately compelled to use it, to the point that nothing will be able to stop me. I'm terrified of that gun. And yet I feel comforted knowing it is there. Just in case I ever need to touch it. Just in case I break.

It's not that I want to die; it's just that I want the thoughts to go away. And if I do fail, if I break, if I fuck up one more time, I know that the only solution will be to blast them out of my mind for good.