I tend to overthink. A lot. Combine that with an unhealthy amount of imagination, seasoned with a good dash of low self-esteem and sprinkled off with a chance of panic attack, you get an ever-expanding universe of overly dramatized things that only happen inside my head.
I’m such a joy to be around when that happens.
I try to keep those thoughts to myself. Because I know I sound like a 15-year-old drama queen (reliving those teenage years, y’all). But I can’t help it, they still occur. Mostly at night. And then the crying happens. So I need an outlet of some sort.
When I first met my boyfriend (we met via an online dating app. Yes, you may cringe.) it was such a surreal experience that we connected so well on such a short period of time. I told him things I had never shared with anyone else, and I felt at ease with it. He made me feel at ease.
Somehow that sharing slowly came to a halt? We still have our moments, but the more we became “a thing”, the more I tried to refrain from telling what was on my mind. Because while we couldn’t stop texting each other at the beginning (even interfering with work and sleep, I might add), as time passed he started sending less messages. And with me trying my hardest not to be the overly attached girlfriend (I admit I sometimes fail at that) I refrained from sending them either. But then on occasions my overthinking got the best of me and I sent passive-aggressive messages which I immediately regretted sending. He was always a gentleman when he replied to them and I don’t think they ever got him mad (or maybe he’s good at hiding it), but it bothered -me- that I couldn’t seem to send anything else than whiny cries for attention, so I tried to tone that down as well.
And so we have come to a point where I sometimes don’t hear from him in days, apart from an occasional short reply. I don’t know how it turned out like this.
As such, I will use this journal as a place to write down all the things I wish I could, but I simply can’t say to him. He told me several times I could tell him anything, and I know I can. But these entries will be some sort of therapy, to blow off steam. Uncensored, and unrefined. Not to be shared just yet. Because they’re too embarrassing, or too drama queen-ish, or they might hurt him, or they might make me seem too clingy.
I don’t know if I’ll ever let him read them. Maybe in a whim. We’ll see.
I just miss talking to him, but I don’t want to push myself down his throat all the time.
So I’ll use this as a substitute for now.