I was born from a test tube.

A combination of donors that produced two.

Twins,

Two halves of a whole.

I never knew what it was like to be raised alone or with the jealousy of an older or younger sibling.

I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.

I don't exactly know what that means.

It is harder for me to make friends,

I take everything personally,

Things that aren't supposed to hurt,

Hurt.

I find joy in danger and adrenaline,

I particularly hate being touched,

Especially hugs.

I still get chills when I listen to the same song hundreds of times.

I named my puppy Cadence because music is important to me,

And I still laugh when she plays with her toy pig that oink.

But my nerves get to me.

My hand always shakes when I drive home,

Thinking of what could've happened while I was gone.

A fire.

A death.

Another tragedy to add onto my diagnosis of PTSD. 

Certain songs sound like my past,

I can't listen to the musical, Heather's,

Because it feels like his force.

I can't listen to the Beatles,

They sound like her funeral.

I get stuck in the past,

Clothes that fit just right feel too tight.

For years I walked on the same path, literally.

But now that path feels like I'm walking backwards,

Back to the bullying, the fear, the deaths, the hospital, the assault, and the rejection.

Hi, my name is Ryan.

And instead I drive

Forwards.

To my future.

College, New York, to a place where I can make a difference.

A life for me never sounds to be perfect.

But authentic is all I could ask for.