I read Textbook, by Amy Krouse, and really liked this page, resulting in this badly taken photo.
But I’m not falling in love…not really. More like falling in like I guess, or maybe that’s what I deeply hope for. Because falling in love is something more. It implies that if the time comes to escape it, it becomes that much more difficult without damaging or losing a part of yourself. At least, that’s what I imagine.
Way back before, back when I was my own person and not in any sort of relationship, I saw my friends and my parents suffer through their own relationships. Sure, there were happy times, but I also saw the bloody aftermath in almost all those relationships. As a result, being the pretentious cocky person I am, I expected that I would never make any of those mistakes. And more importantly, I expected that I would never debase myself enough in relationships to find myself in the same amount of anxiety, “crazy”, and pain that I see others in. I would never emotionally open myself enough to make me so vulnerable and capable of feeling the immense pain and hurt I had seen. I have seen what can happen, and as a result, I should know better.
Recently though, I did insert myself into a relationship. My first one, in fact. And I thought I was emotionally stable enough. However, just a week in and I found myself being crazy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me because I’m never like this. But lately, I find myself thinking, maybe this is who I truly am deep inside. To be honest, I just don’t know.
I think about him 24/7, when I wake up, when I fall asleep, even in the middle of the night when I get woken by my roommate’s snoring. I check my messages about 100x more frequently than I ever did. I feel anxiety when he’s not responding immediately. I want him next to me all the time. I want to talk to him all the time. I compare our relationship to others and think we have it the best. I compare our relationship to others and wonder why he won’t talk to me more like my friend’s boyfriend does. I write extremely cheesy messages that previous me would have definitely thrown up at. I anxiously second guess myself and constantly wonder if I’m being too annoying or not. I read endless articles describing similar symptoms and what I should do and what I shouldn’t do. I need to stop with all this insanity.
Basically, to sum it all up, I’m going crazy and I can feel it. This rapid deterioration of my inner self-haven.
Logically, I know why I’m doing these things and that I should stop. Unfortunately, this doesn’t translate out to the real world.
And I’m afraid. Afraid that if this ends, I will be in pain and sadness, and I don’t want that.
But also and more importantly, I’m equally afraid that the strong, independent, and stoic me that was me before this mess began is disappearing. Or worse, that she never even existed and it was all just a front.