Blame it all on science. That's what I do. People (okay, my mom…) ask how I can eat like a truck driver and not gain a pound. I say will power. They say a fast matabolism. I figure, if they're getting technical, blame it all on science. It was the same basic concept here. I learned on TV that there is a cause to every effect. If the effect is that I'm sad and depressed, then the cause must be Freddie. No one else can POSSIBLY make me feel this way. It happened so quick.
Let me specify. I've liked him a long time. Much longer then I will EVER admit. But the thing is, is it got REALLY bad once I kissed him for the first time, like a punch in the gut. I mean, it wasn't a good kiss, or anything special, but it was with him. That was enough.
I want to stop thinking about it. I really do. But I think about food, and it makes me think about fatcakes, which leads to fatshakes and the whole seddie thing and I feel like killing myself. Another thing I learned on TV-the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different outcome. All I'm doing is pretending I don't like him, like it'll change the situation.
I feel weird. I haven't been eating much lately. My tummie just doesn't want it. Carly made me a large sandwich and I couldn't even finish it. I felt like a nub myself. A crazy nub with no future, only a stupid past.
After I kissed him, the general akwardness drove me to run off in the opposite direction. I know he called after me. I remember wanting to go back, worried he'd hate me forever. But I didn't go back. I ran to Carly's, grabbed the key, unlocked the door, and ran straight to the computer. I typed in my symptoms, but all I got was a few dating sites, and an eating disorder webpage. I was to disturbed to continue looking.
I sat on the shay couch, contemplating. Did I like him? Yes. Did I want him? Yes. Would he ever want me? Of course not! Hated enemies don't date. I know opposites attract, but we're TOO opposite. I'd wear the pants. I'd be the one with the balls. Or overies of steel. Whatever. Point being that no matter what, I'd be sam. He wouldn't be able to handle me.
More contemplations. Finally it got to the point where I could feel the edges of my sanity blow away. No one loved me, and no one really cared. My mom would never notice if I didn't come home. It was at that moment I decided that I was going to go somewhere where I could forget. And it wasn't a bar.