The Boy I Could Never Love

Two Months

My focus over the next six weeks shifted more towards him than on what new crazy existed in my life. And no, not my ex, he wasn't even in school anymore. In my mind, we were together in all but title. Lingering looks and randomly running into him in the hall, and still, he remained reluctant to accept my change in behavior.

I, like yourself, believed no one that clueless at seventeen, but his socially awkward, as well as romantically naive self, proved otherwise. This remained unhelpful when the biggest thing we spoke about surrounded the dance. I tried bringing up other topics, but he just asked to what purpose would we talk about them. The event felt like the only thing that got him speaking

<*At some point, either during this period or before, I tried to speak with him at lunch. He asked what I wanted, and the people at his table told me to get lost. After my invite, I asked during multiple homerooms if he wished to sit together the following day, and he always said no. He felt seeing me in homeroom seemed sufficient as lunch existed the only time he could visit with his friends.*> I started to get worried he might back out. This resulted in my word vomiting any fear I thought he might hold towards my asking, many of these coming from movies about pranks or bets centered around the dance. Yes, roll your eyes, I'm an idiot.

From March to May I made efforts to express my attraction, but the words always got stuck in my throat. Each and every way I could think of left me tongue-tied and drowning in front of him. Something I denied wholeheartedly as, again, I never experienced such a thing and honestly didn't know what it was.

I sang, did all the school plays, told off the jerks, talked my friends' ears off, and frankly never shut up. Getting tongue-tied happened to other people. If I got tongue-tied I would not be able to do all that. Fact?

However, I rejected the opinion that the medication contained anything to do with the change I felt. The notion that a little pill stood the answer to my problems sounded absurd. My feelings being downplayed and dismissed brought me believing everyone felt hopeless. And, I couldn't be suicidal when I never actually hurt myself. I wasn't depressed; I needed to work through my shit.

This resulted in feeling like any controversy carried the potential to make me feel worthless. My thoughts built a lot of anxiety surrounding this. Something else I did not understand and received no treatment for. The rejection I felt certain to obtain after all of my own stopped my voice from working.

Short of my saying, I want to be with you, he ignored my hints as I fought against the barrier my voice hid behind. With him declining to guess what I meant when I talked about wanting something and pointing to him, it took me a while to conclude he might really be that thick. However, I did tell him it would never happen, and here I stood, trying desperately to admit it indeed had.

I even went as far as to reveal I didn't want to go as friends. He took it to mean I didn't actually want to go with him, or else I didn't wish to be friends anymore, resulting in me defending our friendship. The thought did occur to me to allow him to think that the case, and continue flirtatious communication about taking him to the event. Yet, that idea sickened me with the prospect of playing games. It also held the potential of him hating me.

I don't believe he did it to play games either. Though, I ponder if he thought I was. His ability to pick up romantic social cues or any social cues needed a lot of improvement to begin with. Around me, it got even worse. He kept other friends, and as far as I know, they got along fine, but Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy makes me think of the way he behaved during our encounters, only without the blunt commentary. That would have helped tremendously.

It feels as though the majority of the blame falls to me for that. While my depression acted as the catalyst, I need to assume my words took effect. Saying what I did made things even more frustrating to deal with now, and anyone willing to lend a hand met with resistance. I still feared my peers. So, when they asked, I continued to deny my affection by not confirming it.

I no longer dismissed the idea openly, but silence speaks volumes. Talking to someone about how to tell somebody you liked them when you couldn't get the words out and they seemed oblivious, found me refusing to admit who I was talking about. Even when she guessed correctly, I said no. We weren't friends, and I thought she'd laugh at me.

My embarrassment centered around the way I conducted myself. Never did I aim it at him or the feelings I felt. More, I thought he should know before anyone else. Fear of others knowing he rejected me brought me to tears. Losing my one shining light in that school would tear me apart, but being laughed at for it would feel like torture.

The rejection would cut deep, but being reminded of the fact by laughing hyenas would prove the nightmares could find me anywhere and never stop. I think if someone managed to convince me my embarrassment came directly from wanting him, not an easy feat as my stubbornness would see me deny that, it may provide the push I needed. Yet, that meant opening up about my feelings which I feared doing. Besides, everyone dismissed me as unimportant anyways. I existed as nothing more than a big joke to them.

It stays debatable if he didn't get it, or simply felt hurt. Maybe he remained as nervous saying it aloud as I did. I suspect, to guess and be wrong would act as another rejection. He likely could not take another of those, and no approach I took worked with him. Where my friend never had a girlfriend and mostly hung out at home, it caused him to be romantically indifferent. Saying it like he needed me to, stood an impossible feat.

Completely new to this, my inability to explain myself or enlist help created a barrier against the one he built. I needed a way to bring both of them down and came to see no other way through it without the hours afforded us by the prom. In my head, I pictured the event as a place socially acceptable to touch. In junior high, we hugged and sat beside each other, but every time I got close now, he would stiffen. On several occasions, others told me to get away from him.

I often felt that, if I could touch him, the wall surrounding us would break but never assumed I could get close to him in high school. Physical contact relaxed me if the person accepted the gesture. Needing to relax to tell him my secret, created a desire to touch him, and I guess he needed to hear it before he could tolerate my touch.

The prom arrived as the perfect solution. A night of dancing would see any awkwardness melt away as the evening wore on. Even if we didn't start out on the dance floor and just sat there, as my date, I could get close. In the fantasies of a young girl, I pictured us talking while we danced, the music drowning our conversation from those around us. When everything had been said, we would feel more relaxed with each other, and I would gain an idea of where we stood. Only then would I feel comfortable telling my friend I wanted to be with him. All we needed to do was get there.

I am curious about your take on this. Discuss in the comments and a vote would be appreciated.