May 20–June 28, 2005 — Just because I’m falling

Spring ended well, and summer started better than most. Just in leaving the house I found myself doing a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do. I was happy, and there were a lot of moments that I’ll be able to go back to, remembering when it was good to be among friends and knowing I’ve had a few more nights I didn’t want to sleep away.

I remember the day I started to feel better. I was cleaning my room, and I decided I didn’t want to be alone. I decided I could change. And I really tried: I broke a promise to myself by getting a cellphone; I made an effort to spend more time in groups; I went out of my way.

It was great, too. I had such a good time. There are a lot of nights I’ll remember for months and months. Nights of fires and long drives and pretending that nothing else mattered.

I don’t remember when it ended. I started to have more days when I would get very anxious. I still have them. I start to think I’ve left doors unlocked, and I have to go back over and over again to check. And I start worrying more than usual. Once I’m home, once it’s the end of the day, I feel like I need to remove myself from the outside world. I end up convinced that I’m embarrassing myself by trying to spend time with people, that everyone’s humouring me. Some nights I can get over it more easily than others.

And I guess there was another girl. Not one anything happened with, but I talked to her more than once, and I thought about her more than I should have given how little we’d talked. The second time I saw her we walked around for an hour or two. I said goodnight, and I spent the next two weeks convincing myself I’d ruined it, or that she was seeing someone, or that I never had a chance to begin with. It almost worked; I gave up for a couple of days.

My ability to turn the few girls I’m attracted to into platonic friends is disheartening. This time I tried to keep my distance at first, even walking routes where I’d be less likely to run into her. Part of me wanted to keep her as someone further away, someone I could imagine maybe one day having a chance with. I didn’t want to be in the position of knowing for sure that nothing would ever come of it.

Part of me needs these abstract and implausible futures with girls who would never touch me. I don’t have many people left who make me nervous each time I see them, who can make me blush for no reason. I think I need those. I need something to pretend I can look forward to, something on the horizon aside from debt and winter.

I ran into her again on a night I’d forgotten about my alternate routes. We walked for a bit and said goodnight a while later. I remember hearing her watch beep more than once and wondering if it beeped on the hour or half hour. I remember being surprised at how many times I’d heard it.

Cheryl saw me just after. She said I was beaming, that she’d never seen me smile so much. The next day I told Trisha what Cheryl had said. Trisha told me I didn’t have anything to beam about and wouldn’t until I made out with one of the girls I fixate on.

I’m not sure if that’s right, though. I know now that I’ll never make out with this particular girl and that I never could have; that tends to be the case for me. I wouldn’t have much left to beam about if lengthy conversations stopped being enough.

Strange how much more crushing that makes it when I have to give up, though.

But hopefully she’ll still be my friend.