I Wonder If She Is Afraid

I guess I’m going to posting here more often. This disease is so fresh and new to me that I just need time to reason it out. Even though everyone is being effected by this, my mind is more and more concerned for her. I’m sure that if she’s reading this, she is tired reading about herself. Maybe it makes her a little uncomfortable. Maybe a little guilty. I always want to reiterate that this is a me problem. It’s on me to just get over it. It’s on me to stop putting such a burden of asking to be cared about. I guess it might sound harsh to myself, but that’s the way I see it. She’s not talking to me. Again. At the start this really got to me. Like badly. To not hear from her for so long. I remember one of the first times she did this was at the very start of the pandemic. It scared me to think that she might have gotten sick. It panicked me. Talking to my new psych made me realize that it might be a little OCD. To be so fixed on the wellbeing and desired attention of this one person. Over time I just learned to get used to it. I’m trying to remember the more recent times she has done this for a long time. I think it was the beginning of last year. I think maybe for almost six months. Just waiting and hoping that she’d talk to me. I get things are hard and that having to go through stuff like this is difficult, but one “I’m still breathing” ever few weeks or so would’ve been nice. I think by the end of it, I expected to never hear from her again. And I was ok with it. All I could’ve hoped for was that she was ok. I can’t help but think of her. Even in those lonely moments. Another thing I realized is that my paranoia makes it hard to see people as people. In a way, I just see people as another potential problem or inconvenience. I reason that why should I get to know someone and why should they get to know me. What benefit could they give me and what benefit could I give them. Life is all about give and take, and unconditional friendship is a foreign concept to me. So having her as one of the few people that I choose to be close to gives me some kind of hope. Some small little beacon that might be in part the reason I keep going. I realize that one day I’ll say goodbye and she’ll say goodbye and that will be that. But even the slightest chance that I may hear from her again makes it a little easier to get out of bed.

With this new diagnosis, I can’t help but wonder if she’s afraid of me now. Like if I go into a manic state and I end up hurting her. I’m honestly afraid of that. Being depressed was one thing, but being manic was something else entirely. It felt like I could do anything. And when you start thinking that way in terms of how you interact with people, that’s scary. I was always a little curious what my motivations were when it came to her. Why do I get her gifts? Why do I text her even though I hear nothing back? Why do I commit to memory her birthday? Her phone number? Why do I try? Am I forcing her to be my friend? To like me? To try to make her be more than a friend? To make her feel so sorry for me and so guilty about herself that she needs to be with me? It makes me a little depressed. Maybe that’s why we didn’t do our yearly meet up this year. She knew that I was probably still a little manic and that I would try a fourth time to ask her out. And that I wouldn’t take it well if she said no. Of course I know I am overthinking this. Maybe it all just was bad timing. And she’s in a place where she just can’t talk to me. The last time we talked I remember she mentioned some personal stuff that happened. Family. I hope nothing bad happened. It makes it difficult. To try and understand. If my paranoia is right or if life just happens. Who knows? Certainly not me.