Tag Archives: scared

Missing you.

So… I still miss you.

That shouldn’t surprise me anymore. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation with you. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked me in the eye… Even longer since it wasn’t followed by quickly looking away when you realized I was looking back. Goodness, it’s been years since I’ve heard your laugh. Years. But I still miss you.

I never want to stop. So maybe that’s why I haven’t. But I never expected that it would still be this strong. That the pain would still be so real.

Then again, I never expected that, by now, we wouldn’t have become friends again. I never thought your silence would last this long. I always thought our reunion was just around the corner.

Now, part of me wonders if I was delusional.

But, when I was at my worst, those delusions gave me hope. And God used that horrible experience to teach me what hope was. And I’m forever grateful for that.

But that was years ago too. It’s been so long. And there’s a very large part of me that thinks if you and I tried to be friends again today, it wouldn’t even work. Because too much time has past. There’s been too much space, and my pain has completely filled it. And your walls have successfully kept me out. And, though I’m sure you’ve changed, I’m not sure you could even remove a single stone from one of the walls.

And that’s the other thing. Missing you is mixed with worry for you. Because I worry you’ve kept everyone else out. I worry you’re alone and lonely. I worry you’re in pain and too afraid to let anyone see the utter goodness you hold inside of you. I just… I worry.

And you would tell me to stop. And you would say you were fine. And you would say that you like living just the way you are.

And I would be able to see through your lies just as clearly as you saw through mine.

I don’t know why you did what you did. It doesn’t make sense, Tyler. You and I had a friendship that most will never understand. Didn’t you realize that? Didn’t you see how well we understood each other? Didn’t you feel the comfort that came from our friendship? Didn’t you know that I would love you, literally no matter what you did? Didn’t I tell you that on more than one occasion? Didn’t you promise you’d never leave?

And was all of that what scared you and sent you running?

We’re less than two months away from it being four years. This is why I’m convinced that, though there may be stages of grief, grief never actually ends. Because, if it did, would there still be tears in my eyes? If it did, would my heart still ache at the thought of you?

I love you, best friend. Haven’t I proven you can’t change that?

Missing you.




I’m in the middle of writing a five page paper that I really don’t want to  write. And not just because I don’t want to write it and homework is stupid and all of that. I don’t want to write it because it’s been causing tears to swell in my eyes for the past two hours.

Maybe that sounds ridiculous. It probably is. But I’m having to write about an experience I’ve had for the past semester. It’s not that it’s bad. Not really.

It just makes me sad. I’m so disappointed. And I’m frustrated. I’m just so frustrated. Because this paper wants me to write about what I’ve learned and I’m sitting here typing up all of the things I’ve learned that aren’t important to me. That aren’t hard. That don’t make a bit of difference. That I could have learned on my own without this experience.

And maybe it’s good for me. Maybe it’s good to have my patience tested like this. Maybe it’s good to do work that is so boring I feel like my brain will fall out. Maybe it’s good. It will strengthen my endurance. It will give me more experience to know where other people are coming from. It will open my eyes to all the behind the scenes work that no one ever sees.

But maybe… maybe it will make me bitter. Maybe it will make me hate where I am and cause me to hate what I’m learning. Maybe it will keep me from learning things that would be of so much more value to me. Things that I would find relevant to life and to the work I hope to accomplish someday. And that’s what really scares me.

So what have I learned from this experience? Nothing I couldn’t have learned, and would have learned elsewhere. What did I gain? A longing for what I don’t have, yet a forced self-imposed, forced acceptance for what I do. What are the positives of my experience? I’m made to exercise patience I don’t have.  The negatives? This isn’t what I want. And I’m so bored. And I’m missing out consistently on all of the opportunities my peers are given.

Also, clearly I can answer his questions in a paragraph. I have no idea why he’s requiring a five page length.



I sat quietly, trying to read one of the thousands of pages I’d been assigned. Unfortunately, my mind wasn’t anywhere near the book I held in front of me.

I replayed the moments in my mind. Not the good moments, though I had many of those to choose from. Just the awkward ones. Just ones where the silence lasted a touch too long. Just the ones that didn’t go perfectly, that made me question every single thing either of you had ever said to me. And my mind worries over every single second.

Because what if one of those seconds made you realize I’m not as great as you’ve somehow made me out to be? What if one of those moments caused you to wonder why you had bothered to come? What if you realized how uninteresting I was and got bored? What if you suddenly became aware of the fact that I am a horrible conversationalist? What if you came to terms with understanding that you had an idealized version of me in your head?

And I know none of those things are true.

Maybe it’s because I can’t read either of you very well. Or I think I can’t. Or maybe it’s because I… well, I honestly think you’re really cool so I can’t imagine you actually wanting to be my friends.

I do realize that this is not fair to you. I know that. I know that you, if I said these things to you, would argue relentlessly. I know. I am aware. I know you’ve proved me wrong countless times by now. And yet I question everything. I wish I could just turn that off.

Wouldn’t that be great? Do you have any idea with how much more comfortable I would be around you? Do you know that I rarely, if ever, fully let my guard down around you because I am so focused on how I’m being perceived? No, you don’t. Because I can’t tell you. Because that would legitimately hurt you, and for good reason. Because I should not be like this. I consider you close friends and yet… I’m afraid it’s too good to be true.

I’m so sorry for that.


Missing you.

Someone asked me the other day how I ever could have been friends with you.

For once, I tried to put myself in his shoes. Really, in their shoes. Because I know he wasn’t the only one. I knew how… hard you could be. I knew, vaguely, how other people saw you.

And I listened as he tried to explain why it never made sense that you and I were friends. How it never made sense to anyone. He said the same about another one of my friends too. Honestly, he doesn’t see much clearly. But I understand what he was saying. I mean… sort of. I understand what he thought he saw.

But that’s just the thing. He didn’t see you. He thought he did.

But he didn’t see the first time you spoke to me. I sat there quietly, just like I always do, and you made conversation with me. You know, I don’t remember the moment I first meet someone. Most of the time, you just wake up one day and you’re friends with someone and you can’t remember the moment it started. But I remember you. Because I could tell you…saw me. Do you know how rarely that happens?

He also didn’t see the time I had to deal with a death surrounded by people I barely knew. You were the only person here that I could tell. He didn’t see the way your face fell when I told you. You had no reason for your face to fall. You didn’t know them. But you let yourself feel my pain.

He thought he saw you. And maybe he did. But it wasn’t the real you. It was the hard you. The you others couldn’t see past. The you people were afraid of. Who pushed people away. Who constantly built up your walls, higher and higher. But he didn’t see that crack in your walls. Just barely big enough to let a grain of sand get through. And I got through.

I just… I didn’t know how many layers of walls there were. Not that that would have changed anything. Okay. Maybe it would have. Because I do hope I would have fought a hell of a lot harder than I did at the end.

What terrifies me now is that I know you’ve pushed me out. And you repaired that crack in that one wall. And your walls got higher. Stronger. And I’m… terrified you won’t let any one else find another crack. I’m afraid you’ve repaired them all so perfectly that no one else will even be able to think about getting through to you. I’m afraid you wake up every morning and take a walk around the wall, a bucket of mortar in your hand, and fill all the cracks, even add another layer of cement where you think it might be weak. And then, when you get a chance, you go out an buy a few more bricks and make the wall thicker and taller. And it’s just this ongoing process where you make sure that no one sees you.

Which… I don’t even think you see you. Actually, I know you don’t. Because you choose to see the you other people see in you.


Not me. Other people.

Because you never believed any of what I told you.

Oh, what did I tell him? When he asked why I had ever been friends with you?

I told him he never saw the you that I did. He didn’t see the way you talked to me. The way you cared for me. The way you were literally there for me whenever I needed you. I told him about the time when, at four in the morning, you were begging me to come outside to talk because you knew how badly I felt. Because you knew how much pain I was in and you knew I needed to talk about it.

I told him he didn’t actually see you.

Missing you.



I do this thing where I’ll just be sitting there and I’ll gasp suddenly. It scares people. It only happens when I’m just sitting there. Someone once told me it was an anxiety thing… I have no clue if I believe her or not, just because I never knew if I should believe half of what she said.

Either way, that’s been happening with annoying frequency today.

So I was just sitting on my futon, thinking about regulating my breathing, when I heard it. A buzzing noise. Best case senario, a fly was caught in my fan. I was hoping it would just go away if I didn’t acknowledge it. But it just kept buzzing. I looked around my room, trying to locate the noise when I saw it: a giant bug flitting around on my wall.

It didn’t take long for the flight or fight response to kick in. I literally ran from the room.

I’m afraid of a lot of things but one thing is for sure- bees are pretty darn high on that list. Terrified. So clearly, if it was a bee, I was not going to be able to sleep in that room unless it wasn’t there.

Unhelpful thoughts of, “This is why I need a man” raced around the more logical, helpful thoughts of how to get it out. And preferably dead.

I grabbed a roommates shoe and slowly tip toed back into my room. I sat down in the edge of my futon and waited until it revealed itself. Finally, my eyes found it, in the corner of one of my picture frames.

How in the world was I supposed to smash it there?

I got the vacuum from the closest and found it had one of those tube attachments. That was exciting. But I couldn’t get myself close enough to get the thing.

My roommate ended up smashing it with a hand towel as I stood outside of the room shuddering, Honestly the biggest bee either of us has ever seen. It was terrifying. I’m just starting to clam down, though I feel like bugs are crawling on me and every time one of the two lady bugs in my room moves, I jump.

Clearly this isn’t helping with the breathing thing.

Bees make sense. When I see them, I get scared. I shudder. I freeze. I run. It makes sense.

If the breathing thing is anxiety, it’s anxiety over something I’m not thinking about. This is frustrating. If I don’t know why it’s happening, how am I supposed to stop it? And honestly, it was happening so much in class today that I thought someone was going to say something. I hate it. And I feel like it’s amped up lately. Nothing was even wrong today.

Bees make sense. If they sting me, I could have an allergic reaction and that would be bad.

But the fears that aren’t tangible? I can’t get my roommate to kill those.



Scared, I spilled my words out on a page and handed it to you.

You didn’t know me. And why should you? You read over it quickly, and shrugging, handed it back to me. You shook your head.

Quietly, I walked away and hid the page, never to see the light of day again.

But now, much later, I’m frustrated you didn’t give me a fair chance. Because it took something for me to give that to you. And it was my pain and my glimpse of beauty that you rejected.

You didn’t reject others. No. You accepted them again and again. They who are already so seen, so heard. They who already get to have their say.

See, you accepted the fearless and made the scared more fearful.

I sat, quietly, reading the words of others that had come to light. Some hurt me. Some confused me.

I sat, alone, in the quiet house, my feet tucked up under me, my toes finding warmth wrapped up in my skirt. I could hear nothing but the clock on the wall, the hum of the air conditioning, and the soft knock of a butterfly as it tried to break its way through the window.

I do wonder what it’s like to be great. Good is nothing. Because anyone can be good. But not everyone can be great. I have seen great people. The chairs that they have sat in, empty now, surround me. So many.

They wrote words you accepted. They wrote words that touched you, haunted you, belittled you, and upheld you. The took photos that gripped you, painted pictures that captivated you.

I’ve painted images with so much more to be desired. I’ve taken photos that couldn’t hold interest long enough. And I’ve written words that made you shake your head and whisper. Not good enough.

Because it is not enough to be good. But I don’t know if I have the ability to be better.



I heard you said good things about me.

Really, that should make me feel great. It should make me smile a little more. It should give me some sort of warm, fuzzy feeling or something like that.

Instead, it scares me.

Somehow, in the short time that I have known you, you have seen a person that you like. You even used the word ‘fun’ to describe me. No one ever says that. But you’ve seen someone in me who you want to be around. Who you enjoy.

And that terrifies me.

Because what if you hang out with me more and you realize you don’t actually think anything good of me? What if I start to get on your nerves and rub you the wrong way? What if you realize that I am not a fun person? What if you start to see the other sides of me? The other sides that are not as pretty or shiny or happy or good? What if you realize you don’t want to be around me? What if you begin to wonder how you could have ever enjoyed being around me?

I enjoy you. You are so much fun and you have such a good heart and I love being around you. And I just don’t want to lose you when you realize that I am not as great as the person that you’ve made me out to be in your head. What if I can’t live up to your expectations?