It is 2:30 am and unable to sleep, I check Facebook. I see a photo or post, something that reminds me I’m waiting for response. It’s the *read by ___ notification or text that goes unanswered. This stupid shit that turns rational, logical grown ups into momentarily insecure children. You can go ahead and say it’s just me, but it’s not. We’ve all been there. We’ve all felt a little out of our mind with just how easy it is now to see someone is ignoring you. And you know what? I really fucking hate this feeling.
I get attached to things. In kindergarten, my mom planned a Medieval themed birthday party for me. I dressed in whatever the appropriate, non-corset attire a 6 year old girl could wear to look all old school and renaissance. The few little boys I deemed cootie free and invited came over dressed like miniature knights. My mom, this emerald-eyed angel who always went above and beyond, constructed a “dragon” for the party out of boxes and green paint. It actually looked like a dragon. And we had to slay him.
Of course, enter Ari, with a bleeding heart and unable to detach from anything, and the day of the party I announced nobody could slay the dragon.
We kept that thing in our garage for nearly 5 months because I wouldn’t let my parents throw it out. I do not know how to let things go once my feelings get involved. And my feelings are always involved. I’m a pile of goo and sentiment. And sometimes, I really hate it.
I used to feel envious of my best friend. She was like a chill Little Mermaid, flowing red locks with this quiet bravery. I’d be in her bed, analyzing the shit out of a text message for the 70000th time, and she’d just listen. She’d advise me, but we both had a mutual understanding of just how different we were when it came to dating, relationships, being chill. I used to wonder if anything ever got under her skin. She moved on effortlessly. I was afraid I carried leftover ink stains from everyone.
I thought about that cardboard dragon. I loved that thing, maybe a bit prematurely, but it’s what I felt. I cared about it enough to ruin the party fun and proclaim, “NOBODY SHALL HURT MY NEW FRIEND!” That’s just who I am. I don’t know how to put up a front and act the cool and collected part. If I feel it, I feel it. And guess what? I’m starting to realize that’s okay. That’s totally me, and maybe I’m just not chill. And I’m perfectly chill with it.
I’m going to want you to text me back. I’m not going to play some timing game, or anticipate the correct move to seem less interested. I’m going to replay conversations and wonder if I said too much. But if I’m interested, you’re going to know. I’m going to explode with things like, “You’re great! I like you!” I’m going to be that pile of sentimental gooeyness. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe that’s just me.