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I never expected it. They seemed so strong, so happy. How did things go wrong?

They broke up.

It’s true that I didn’t know them very well, but to me, when I had been around them, they seemed like best friends. They knew each other well, and they loved each other anyway. They laughed, they smiled, they teased. I could see in their mutual gaze a deep connection, a bond between two people that, if I were one to believe in fate, would look to me like they were meant for each other.

Maybe I was wrong.

I’m surrounded by bad relationships, by break ups. Is this all there is out there? For some time, a couple seems like a pair of opposite magnets, more than happy to be together, inseparable. And then one of them switches poles, propelling both in different directions, any direction, anywhere but where the other is. Shortly after I recover from the shock of the sudden, violent severance, another pair goes flying and chaos ensues. Magnets are whipping by all around me, everywhere, and I’m left to attempt to make sense of it all.

I don’t think I know any successful couples. Both of my roommates in college have boyfriends, but neither relationship seems ideal. One of them argues on the phone with her boyfriend at least a few times a week, always over small, avoidable things like dancing at a club with some big black guy, and the other and her boyfriend seem indecisive about whether to be together or to break up, flip-flopping back and forth between the two like a scale with equal weight on both sides. It seems to me that these attractions will ultimately reverse as well.

I have never been in a relationship. Is this what I am to expect? Is this all there is to look forward to? All these people have done this before. They should know what they’re doing. They must’ve learned from all their experience. But all their previous attempts have ended in failure. I have no experience to rely on. Am I doomed to failure as well?


I’ve been talking to my closest friend Mike online, but conversation has quieted. I’m left to rot in my acidic troubles, which corrode my being as if I’m swimming in a pool of hydrochloric worries. This has been eating away at me for days. Do I have what it takes to make a relationship last? So many things can go wrong. What if one of my quirks bothers him? What if I’m too affectionate? Or what if maybe not enough? What if?

Should I maybe talk about this? I can talk to him. He’s always been a good friend. He’s never been critical of me, always supportive. He says the nicest things. He’s the most caring person I know, even going as far as making a career out of it, by becoming a social worker. I can trust him.

But I can’t make myself vulnerable. I want to hold on to my thoughts, shove them deep down where no one can find them, and pretend everything will be alright, that it is alright. Does it mean I’m weak if I need help? Maybe this is all just something absurd to be worrying about. What might he think of me if I bring this up? I can’t do it.

But I need to. I need the other perspective. I need the reassurance. I need him.
I’m drowning in my doubts, thrashing on the inside, trying to stay above the surface, gasping for air, choking, sinking, drowning. And he’s my lifeguard.
Maybe I don’t need to say anything. Maybe he’ll notice my tormented state on his own. But for now, the conversation is still quiet.

I thoughtlessly grab my pencil, a black mechanical with a green tab, and drive the tab under my fingernails, mindlessly scraping as if I were cleaning them out. I stare at the blue carpeted floor without really seeing it. What am I going to do?

As I move my finger across the tab again, the pencil suddenly flicks out of my hand sideways. I jump at the surprise as if a volt of electricity has shocked me. It cuts downward through the air. It falls on the floor on its point with a thud, then bounces back to hit on the other end with another thud, before settling flat against the blue carpet. I pause for a moment, watching it do nothing, before picking it up and placing it beside my computer.

I have to tell him. I need to. I will. I’m telling myself this, but I don’t budge. I repeat the words in my mind. I’m going to tell him. I need to tell him. I will tell him. I repeat them. I’m not budging. I’m not sure I believe what I’m telling myself.
Maybe it’ll go away on its own. I can’t worry about it forever. It’ll fade away. These things always do. I’ll be okay.

The computer screen flashes. I see it out of the corner of my eye, that telltale orange in the taskbar that means I have an instant message. It’s ruined. The moment is ruined. He’s messaged me about some lighthearted occurrence in his house. His cat has done something silly most likely. The quiet atmosphere is becoming that of a more pleasant nature, and my doubts will no longer seem appropriate to mention.

I jerk my head in its direction and click.

Oh, it’s Jackie. Go away, Jackie.

I scan her text quickly, eager to dismiss it and get back to my thoughts. It seems the moment isn’t ruined after all.

“it’s raining, i don’t know if i wanna leave my room to eat XD” it reads.

“Haha,” I type. I click the little x in the top right-hand corner and return my gaze to the floor. My thoughts resume.

Things will be okay. I don’t need help.

No, I have to be rational. These things resurface. Maybe I’ll be fine tomorrow, but what of the next day? Or next week? These thoughts could regurgitate themselves, and I’ll be left with the bad taste. If I don’t do something now, I’ll put myself in an endless cycle of okay, not okay, okay, not okay. My hands hover over the keyboard, but I only stare at it, afraid to touch, as if I’m not sure whether or not it might electrocute me.

I take in a deep breath of air and force it all back out of my mouth with a sigh. Even in breathing I’m indecisive. Do I want this air in me or don’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t breathe at all.

I hear the pounding of footsteps outside my door, approaching, approaching, and the alarms in my mind are ringing. My roommate. She’s back. If I try to talk to Mike about this, I might cry, and I can’t be seen crying. Mike won’t know, but she will. Please don’t be her.

I hear the grind of the doorknob next door. It’s a neighbor. This opportunity is too easy to lose, as fleeting as the sunset. But unlike the sunset, there’s no guarantee for tomorrow. My gaze is locked on my computer screen. I feel the urgency as my heart reaches out, pleading for help, trying to escape my chest. I have to act now.

At that exact moment, he messages me. What did he say? My mind is quiet, calm, yet I feel like I’m waiting for a verdict. I click and read.

“So what are you up to?” he asks innocently. Perfect set-up. I know exactly what to say.

“Thinking.” He’ll ask about what. And he does. He’s making this easy. So I tell him.

“About how I might screw up a relationship if I ever get into one.”

The window tells me he’s immediately started typing, and in a matter of a few seconds, I have my response: “What? Why?”

Now he knows. Hard part’s over. I’ve done it. But my issue has yet to be resolved.

“I dunno,” I type, and then I pause. How do I say this? I understand my thoughts without words. They’re vague yet exact concepts floating around inside my head. But I can’t communicate with the abstract language of my mind. I know what I mean. How can I get him to know what I know?

I continue, “I just feel like I’d mess it up somehow. I mean, it’s not that I don’t think I’m worthy, because I do think I’m attractive and I think I’m a good person, but…” I trail off for a moment again. Words, words, gimme some words. What makes sense? “I dunno. What if I’m clingy or something?” Maybe I would be clingy, maybe I wouldn’t. Where’s the line drawn between a normal amount of time spent with a significant other and an obsessive amount?

He’s typing. “Clingy? I don’t see you being clingy.” Good news.

Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be clingy. But clingy wasn’t the issue.

“I’m just afraid that things will be fine for awhile and then… somehow I’d ruin it and he’d break up with me.”

He starts typing. I stare at the screen. How is he going to reassure me? And then:

“I doubt you would. If there’s some issue, you’d just have to talk about it and try to work it out. He has to communicate.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

Typing again, the window says. What is he going to say? He’s still typing. I wait, digging fingernails underneath fingernails, cleaning again.

“If he cared enough about you, he would. And if not… Well then you wouldn’t want him anyway.”

Like a plug in an outlet, something comes together in my mind. He has a point.

“That’s true,” I type.

“I’m sure at this point you’d have good judgement about who you picked. It would have to be pretty serious to screw it up.”

“Thanks.” Like dandelion seeds in the gentle blow of the wind, my fears have floated away.

“Any time,” he answers. “You know I’m here to talk to… Whenever you have those doubts and criticisms.”

“I know.” In my mind, I say this softly. But of course he couldn’t know that.

I appreciate him more than he knows. How can he know? In actuality, he hadn’t said anything especially extraordinary. His words were simple, perhaps even obvious. But somehow I couldn’t get myself to realize them on my own. It was exactly what I needed to hear, and in some way he knew that. Has my problem really vanished so readily, so instantly? I had felt before like I was stuck in a great puddle of mud, hopeless, doomed, with no amount of effort allowing myself to escape from its suction, to budge even a little. But I had reached out to him after hours of despair, and he only reminded me I could take my feet out of my boots and leap to dry land.

I am free at last.