To the Boy Who Made Me Feel Crazy


I am a logical human being. Or so I thought, until I met you.

I know that sex is not love. I know that hookups are not designed to last forever. When we hung out for the first time and you told me you liked me, we both knew you just liked the way my ass looked in that skirt.

I had no expectations until you gave them to me.

I am familiar with the adage, “out of sight, out of mind,” and I am not so arrogant to think that I would be constantly occupying your thoughts the way you do mine, like an annoying pop-up ad reminding me of all of my faults but offering no quick-fix in the form of a face cream or diet plan.

So why did you text me while I was on vacation after we had only known each other for a couple weeks to tell me, “life is good and you’re one of the reasons”? Why did you make my heart swell if you were only going to puncture it?

Why did you reach out after we had stopped talking, why did you confide in me if I wasn’t supposed to worry, to check up, to care?

Why did you look me in the eye and ask me what you were going to do without me, when you would have no problem ignoring me in the very near future?

When I said I would leave you alone if you didn’t respond, why did you drunkenly text me only a couple days later that you have “loved me in this life and the last” if you had no intention of doing so?

And to myself, I ask: why did I analyze everything the both of us said, searching for ways I may have unknowingly hurt you, when you so clearly did not care how your actions affected me?

I know I can be confusing. I am introspective and guarded. But I’m certainly not going to be less so now after I started to reveal myself to you and you couldn’t be bothered to explain your disappearance.

I know that you have pain in your past and you’re battling your own demons. You have a full, complete life that has nothing to do with me.

You are not required to like me as much as I like you, or to want more from me than my body — but if that’s the case, you shouldn’t pretend otherwise.

We are both adults. I’ll get over it. At least then I can irrationally hate you and my friends can console me by saying it’s your loss. But when you say “you’re the best girl I know, that just scares me,” then it makes it seem like something I can fix, if I could just be less aloof, less intense, more open, more giving.

Kind words with no meaning behind them are not kind.