I resent your “Single” relationship status

I don’t know why I keep doing it. But I am.

Yup, still “Single”.


This is so embarrassingly childish, and yet I can’t help being bothered by it. I don’t want to tell you, because really, who wants to start whining about someone’s Facebook status, for fuck’s sake? You’re over 25, Nie, man the fuck up.

I’m still so freaking annoyed by it tho. Goddammit.

I think it’s because of that OKCupid chick you became friends with awhile ago. I know you met her there. Don’t ask me how, but I know.
And don’t forget the infamous “I love meeting new people”. Which I’m still not sure what to make of that.


Way to knife-poke even deeper into that gaping self-esteem wound.

I can’t tell you all this. Because it’s so childish. Because it’s probably just me overthinking. I hope. But for fuck’s sake you’re making me so insecure.

“I like to have you around, but only for a short while.”

(you know things are getting bad when you start quoting Rihanna)

I’m jealous of everyone who gets to be around you.

One of the recurring questions people unknowingly hurt me with, is: “Are you going to see him soon?”
For every time I have to reply with a “I don’t know”, “We’re both busy so we’ll see”, “He lives quite far so it’s not that easy”. Or sometimes I simply lie.

I wish people would stop asking. Maybe then your words wouldn’t constantly haunt my thoughts.

“I like to have you around, but only for a short while.”

It even hurts writing them down.

I understand what you mean, well, I -think- I do, but you got to realize that it’s not something you want to hear from your boyfriend.

Friends don’t seem to comprehend why we’re not together more often. Especially not since we’ve only been together for what, 3 months? We should be using all of our free time to cuddle up in each other’s arms.
Someone suggested I should give you an ultimatum. I’m not gonna do that since I told you I kinda understand what you’re struggling with. Also, I’m afraid of what your answer would be if I did.
One time when I was feeling down, or when I was feeling bored, my mom suggested I should drive over to your place. I shrugged it off with a simple “Nah, that’s fine, I’ll just talk to him later.” while in fact I wanted to pour out “I can’t, mom, I can’t. He doesn’t want me there and I don’t know how to fix that!”. I think, no, I -know- that my mom knows how that’s weighing down on me.

I often wonder what I can do to make you want me to stay longer, or to come over sooner, or more.

I know you sometimes see this relationship (can I finally call it one? I was so confused on how to introduce myself on New Year’s Eve) as a chore. It hurts, that realization. And it makes me curl up in tears. But then on other days you can be so sweet and caring. My mind and my heart is all confused lately.

How can I be less of a bother? Am I too exhausting for you? You don’t have to focus all your energy on me when I’m there, you know. It’s pleasant, I’m not gonna lie about that, but there’s no need. Just being there close to you is enough for me, really. It’s also unnecessary for you to try and please me (in all possible meanings) all the time when I’m there. Again, I’m not complaining (:p) but I get as much enjoyment of just sitting beside you. I’m an only child, I can entertain myself quietly.

On Christmas Day, I deliberately didn’t stay over. When I got up and said I was leaving, I was secretly hoping you’d ask me to stay, but you sleepily just nodded, pulled me closer and then eventually let me go.

On New Year’s Eve I did stay over. I got introduced as ‘the girlfriend’, which made my heart flutter. You were talking about “next time”. I got my hopes up.

Now we’re 11 days further. Which actually isn’t much compared to the 35 days last time. :p
But I have 3 weeks off, and I made myself believe you’d ask me to come over.

You haven’t.

It sucks.

What sucks even more, is that other people do come over. And you do go out.

At first, I reassured my doubts with the false presumption that you were more relaxed on your own, and that you had to get used to the fact that you weren’t alone anymore. I could live with that. We could slowly build up. I had patience. If you didn’t want to go out, that was fine by me. If you needed time on your own, I get that; I need my “me time” too.

Apparently friends come over on a nearly daily basis, you have your weekly RPG evenings, you go out to drink, you even said you “love to meet new people“.


Then where on the ladder does that bring me?

They also exhaust you, I realize that. Or at least, I’d like to think they have the same effect on you as I do. But they still get to see you. So maybe I should become as selfish and just barge in like everyone else? Claim my own “you time”.

But I can’t do that.

First of all, I don’t want to jeopardize your health by my selfish actions.
And secondly, I want -you- to yearn for -me-. I want -you- to lie there in the evening and realize you miss me, to the point where you throw caution to the wind, grab your keyboard, and send me a message, asking me to come over.

I want you to miss me as much as I miss you.

And it’s breaking my heart realizing you don’t.

So much to do, so little energy

There’s so much I want to write about. But my lethargic mood is back, and you still didn’t give a sign of life and I’m mad at the world, so it’ll remain a vague post about future topics for now. :p

– People are starting to ask questions and I don’t know how to answer them;
– I resent your “single” status;
– Time stamps and online statuses will be the death of me;
– Even long-distance relationships have better communication;
– Did I force you into this relationship and other insecurities that bother me at night;
– “I like to have you around, but only for a short while.”
– My heart flutters when you smile;
– I want to be your favourite place to go when you’ve had a good day or a bad day;
– …

All the things I can’t tell you or you’d think I’m insane -oh wait.

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.

Because it’s cheaper than a psychiatrist

After bawling my eyes out again at 2 a.m. I found myself looking at pages about depression, anxiety and panic attacks. Three online tests later (hey, don’t judge, I wasn’t in the right state of mind) seemed to confirm that my feelings, mood swings, chest aches and lethargic state might -as feared- fall under the category of “depression”. 4th victim in the family, hurray.
After checking my phone for any new messages for the 20th time or so (it buzzed, 3 times, it even did the Steam “new message” sound, and 3 times it wasn’t him) I googled the nearest psychotherapist. Sounds a bit extreme, but the thought of talking to one has crossed my mind before. So here I was.

€60 for an intake session, €55 per session. Yikes.

€25 per online session. You send an email, they reply in two days. You pay by bank transfer.

Apparently they also cater to the Anonymous I-Need-Help-But-No-Way-I’m-Facing-A-Shrink Club. Sneaky bastards.

…I couldn’t send the email.

Maybe it was because I calmed down enough to realize I was being nothing more than a drama queen.
Maybe it was because I refuse to believe psychiatrists do actually help.
Maybe it’s because I’m a cheapskate and I don’t want to pay €25 for each story I could easily write down somewhere else for free and even delete when I get back at them and nearly die of embarrassment.

So here I am.