Crush

So, I've been thinking. I have had way too many crushes that never went anywhere. Maybe by some people's standards, it's a much more normal number, but to me, it's downright sad. The worst part is that about half the time, I've found out after the fact that the girls liked me at one time or another (though I rarely know if it is at the same time I liked them). Some people would say to be happy for friendships that those crushes have grown into, and I am, sort of, but there's also this nagging feeling of "Dammit, why didn't I say anything?" I think Randall Monroe illustrated the sentiment of my fears best. Apparently, he also illustrated what is ultimately the situation on both sides, though that prospect still baffles me.

Now, in real life, I know that things don't work like this comic implies. The Neurotic Little Stick Figure imagines a worst-case scenario. But real life is bad enough. Because for some reason, I seem to get up the nerve with girls who aren't interested (I can still say "girls" because I was still in college last time it happened - from here on out I think I'm culturally obligated to call any new crush a "woman.") When I tell these particular girls that I am interested, they typically "let me down easy." The first time was the worst. I told this girl, Kim, that I had liked her for some time, and I asked her to come to my highschool homecoming with me. She told me she had already made plans with friends. This pattern repeated a couple times, with me asking for a date and her dodging it by already having plans. Finally, I asked her to be my girlfriend on, fool-that-I-was, the day before Valentine's day. She asked if she could get back to me, and again, being a dope, I told her that was fine, genuinely hoping for a good outcome. She did get back to me the next day, and explained that she just wasn't attracted to me. This would have been fine if she had stopped there - I have never considered myself to be terribly physically attractive. I had just always hoped my personality would overcome that. But she didn't stop there. Rather, she went on "but it's not a physical thing. It's more of a personality issue." I'm pretty sure she went on, but the thundercrack of those words and the balm of the intervening years have faded anything beyond that sentiment to total obscurity.

As I say, that was the worst. Since then, rejection has just been a polite "I just don't think of you that way" or "I don't have time for a boyfriend, and don't expect to anytime soon." Still not the best responses in the world, but those were infinitely better than to say that the thing I expected to overcome my difficulties was my difficulty all along.