My lungs twist with pain as I reach the front steps of my house, thinking back to just a few minutes ago. Andrew’s face flashes across my eyes, hanging down like a wilted rose, weak and sad. Tears started to fill my eyes again.
Andrew and I had been dating for nine months. It was nice at first, two teenagers caught up in the awkward, new, exciting whirlwind of young love. We would go to the park and just sit and chat on Saturday afternoons, both of us knowing that we had homework to do but neither of us wanting to ruin these magically carefree moments. We walked through the bustling halls of school proudly holding hands as our friends and classmates whispered about how cute we were. We even went on vacations together, our families smiling about how close we were. And then I started to feel It.
It sits in my stomach like a pile of glop, refusing to go away no matter what I do. Some people call it anxiety, some people call it a loss of attraction, but it doesn’t really matter what It’s called in my opinion, all that matters is how terribly heavy it feels. This feeling weighed me down as if my stomach were encased in cement. I kept telling myself that it was all in my head, that I was just nervous about that history presentation I had next Tuesday, or that I just feel so bad because I ate that questionable piece of bread the other day; but regardless of all of these explanations to myself, this fear just simmered inside of me, eating me up slowly until I finally couldn’t take anymore. And that was the problem.
What if he takes this the wrong way? What if he thinks it’s personal? Why can’t I just love him the way he loves me? Why do I have to have issues with intimacy? Why?
As my house door shakes in my view from the tears that fervently replenish themselves every time I blink my eyes I am brought back to this moment. I involuntarily wince as the familiar feeling of guilt washes over me. This always seems to happen: anyone who is involved with me, anyone who tries to get close to me, just ends up getting hurt. I don’t understand why I shut myself away, close myself off like I do, but I just can’t open up like others want me to. And I’ve tried, for years I’ve tried, yet here I am at sixteen crying once again because I couldn’t do it, and I’ve added another broken heart to the world.
I am sorry. Andrew, I hope that one day you can forgive me for making you too prey to my deepest, darkest fear. And to anyone else who may want to get close to me, please beware, handle me with caution because I’m like a piece of broken glass, I may seem beautiful at first glance but I’ll just end up hurting you too.
