All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Afterthoughts of a Diary Entry
Diary Entry, August 23, 2009:
So the thing is there’s this girl that you met over the summer, but you haven’t actually talked to her recently, and you keep saying you’re too busy, which she completely believes and understands, but she tells you all the time that she misses you, and she just needs to hear the same thing back, because “I miss you” takes about three and a half seconds to type. She needs you to know that as hard as it is liking someone when they don’t like you back, it’s even harder missing someone when they don’t miss you back.
But if, by giving in to her wishes, you would just be parroting empty words, then she could deal with that too. Even if everything you’ve been telling her is just trying to shut her up, she wants to know the truth. It’s just that not knowing is confusing for her, and she’s sick of questioning if anything that happened over the summer means anything, or if you really want to cut off communication completely.
The reality is that she wants you to want her. You’ve reeled her in, and she’s scared shitless of being cut off. She’s sick of being so honest with people who barely respond to her. She wasn’t lying when she told you she wasn’t angry, because she’s too hurt and jumbled up to be angry. This one-way line does not work for her, and she needs to know for certain that you feel at least a fraction of what she feels. If you want to stay friends with this girl, than you should find a way to fix it. It wouldn’t be hard, because she’s very open and would just be relieved to know that she doesn’t have to second-guess herself anymore. But if you really don’t care about her, then make sure you tell her. Because she’s afraid of being in the dark for very much longer.
The Afterthoughts, February 16, 2010:
Okay, I know I’m dramatic. But this is honestly what I’m feeling, so I guess we both have to deal with it. The sad thing is, it’s been six months since I last saw him, and I’m still praying we end up at the same college.
We still talk:
“Hey, long time no see, how have you been?”
“Hey! I’ve been doing well. Track just started, and the newspaper’s coming out in a week, but I’m holding it together. Piano practice is sort of taking a back burner right now.”
“I hear you on that one. Especially with all these scholarships… if I have to fill out one more I think I’m just not going to go to college.”
I laugh, we exchange small talk punctuated by witty comments for a few more minutes. And then one of us decides that it’s time to hear the dial tone. When we hang up, the world I actually live in comes flooding back to me, and my memories fade back into the corners of my mind where they were tucked before.
What he doesn’t know is that if I could have one thing back from that summer, it would be the night The Wizard of Oz played on the screen in the outdoor courtyard, and he held me as we watched the movie, just lying in the wet grass even after it was over and everyone had left. He was amazed at the number of stars we could see from where we were sitting, a sparkling sea normally by the city lights of San Diego, his hometown. I pointed to the constellations I knew from living in mountain country where every single minute star is visible and has a purpose. I felt proud to be able to teach him something, until he told me, in detail, the Greek myth to each group of stars I pointed to. Everything about him is brilliant. I would be blessed to know half the things he knows.
It was a sweet labor, everything I did to get him to like me. I am thankful for everything that happened, because never have I felt so happy, scared, excited, overwhelmed or confused about anyone in my entire life. That’s one of the things I miss most about him, and one of the things I wish would just go away. The way I see it, even though he made me cry when I was sitting on the bus one seat in front of him and the girl he was flirting with, they were real life tears. When you feel pain, it means you’re real, not a china doll.
Probably the worst thing about this whole situation is the fact that the entire time I was desperate for him, there was someone else out there who cared about me more than he did. There was someone else out there who didn’t drink or smoke the way he did, and truly listened to me when I talked. There was someone else out there who was sweet, and made and effort to be in my company, and tried to teach me how to play water polo. There was someone else out there who told me that it hurt him to see me upset, and was friends with me even though I checked my hair in every window we passed, and had songs by the Jonas Brothers on my iPod. There was someone else out there who listened to Free Bird with me while lying in the warm afternoon, someone who I didn’t have to hide anything from.
But it was beautiful, the way this boy I liked made me feel. Even when he was giving me excuses, I would eat up his words like popcorn. Maybe he made me a slave to my thoughts, but there was no way knowing him was meant to be wrong. Once in a while, I still shiver in my dreams at night, wondering what would happen if I was able to step into the same river twice and see him again.
I’m perfectly aware that there’s something deranged about the whole situation. I am a victim of the George Orwell mentality. As crazy as it is, I love him even though he hurt me. I let him carry my heart around in his pocket, when he doesn’t even care, and is probably blind to the fact that it’s there at all. But it’s the heart of a girl who doesn’t know what’s what anymore, so I don’t know how much it’s worth. He put me through the kind of instability people crave in love, but I know that I fell for the wrong person. I’m sick, and I need help. There’s something mentally deteriorating about the kind of feeling that leaves you flying one moment and curled up on the floor the next. You can’t break away from it, but most of the time you don’t want to.