I was rummaging through my old notes from summer course when I found this little random epiphany written on a sheet of paper. Revised for clarity.
People and media romanticize falling in love a lot. I understand the hype, but for me, it’s so hard to deal with.
I don’t love — I become hyper-aware. I am obsessed. Worried. Tense. Paranoid. Depressed. And very, very anxious.
The last time “love” happened to me:
- I endured some of the worst panic attacks in my life.
- I had thoughts of self-harm.
- I hallucinated in my sleep.
- I disengaged from my friends.
- I cried so hard I threw up.
- In fact, I was throwing up everywhere I went, pretty much.
- Lost my appetite and nearly passed out.
- Had chronic stomachaches.
- Had chronic anxiety attacks that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy
- Had intrusive thoughts 24/7.
- Had depression.
Looking back, now only does it sound funnier when I read this stuff aloud but I wonder why I went so gaga over that specific person. Maybe it was my firsthand assumptions about them or that they looked like a work of art in human form. If that’s so, it doesn’t explain why the symptoms were so…paradoxical.
Why do I react the way I do? My sister knows and she contends that it’s insane. Even I know it.
I don’t have answers to that. Such is the wild, unpredictable nature of love.
This person exists. Perhaps that should be reason enough.
I be sure to take every painful situation as a learning curve.
I remember watching a Twilight Zone episode where a woman kept running away from some creepy man that seemingly stalked her across the country, and she kept calling out for help to the local passerbys that she encountered. although no one believed her. Near the end of the show, our protagonist, about half dead with fright, tried to contact the phone operator to put her on the line with her mother. The response was, “(Name of mother) has been crying over her daughter’s recent death.”
It hit her: she was dead all along. She just didn’t know how to accept Death — the same Death who was the creeky stalker, by the way, that was following her across the country, beckoning her to follow him into the afterlife with minimal fuss.
I narrate my life with parallels such as these, so let me explain. Before, I was the terribly insecure, desperate, love-starved girl who kept phoning the operators of Fate to give me the love I so craved and thus rescue me from withering away into a lonely, lonely life.
Then the operator picked up.
“Tiffs is suffering from excessive anxiety and thus can’t qualify to our Matchmaking line right now.”
Just as our protagonist realized the truth about herself, I realized mine: I was in intense pain. Fate, disguised as a lurking doom-and-gloom singleness, was merely beckoning me to put aside my love worries and continue on with my life, single but pain-free, even though I initially fought against him.
Accepting Fate’s advice wasn’t going to be easy, but knowing the truth about myself might just be the thing to strengthen me until I’m truly mentally ready to accept the next lovebug that comes my day through the series of coping mechanisms I developed after my precious experiences.
The truth? It doesn’t matter whether you have someone or not. What matters most is how at peace you are with your state of mind. That is the only way to feel authentic happiness.
You can’t be that lonely if you’re at peace with yourself first. Right?
But…ya know. All the millennial girl bloggers ever have probably said the exact same thing as I have. We’re so similar it’s disgusting. xD