The Fault in Our Tumblr

Chapter One

I was like many teenagers my age: introverted but secretly extroverted, addicted to the Internet, a lover of Starbucks, and depressed in one stage of life or another. It was sometime in the summer of the prior year that my mother had determined in her own mind that I needed to get more friends and stop being such a shut it. But what she did not realize was that I was nearly incapable of getting actual friends. 

I was awkward around people in general; it didn't matter if they were female or male, I was just awkward around everyone. I wasn't super klutzy or nerdy or totally psycho weird, I simply was awkward in public in a way I cannot express. When I got near someone new or just tried to start conversation with someone, I clammed up. My mouth got dry, my palms sweaty, my heart started beating at a million miles a minute, and my voice got super shaky and sometimes squeaked. That was just my outward awkwardness, though; the stuff that happened in my brain was completely unexplainable.

For some reason I was all right with that though. If I didn't have a crap load of friends or acquaintances, then I didn't get caught up in drama and that depressing side of the teenage years everyone was always talking about. Then again, people got upset with me, saying I didn't make an effort to make friends. That was fifty-percent true. Half of me totally shunned the thought of making friends, while the other half of my tried avidly to gain someone to talk to person-to-person.

So, with the reclusive and awkward nature to gain real-world friends, I turned to my beloved Internet as a emotionless companion. It worked out nice. There was very little commitment; no nagging, grumping, or gossiping; and much, much less drama as far as I was concerned. Sure there was always the occasional wifi down or power outage, and of course girls and boys alike tossed around hate comments on Facebook. But as long as I stayed out of those Facebook rants or just waited for the power to come back on, all was fine in my digital world. 

That was what made my mom upset. She thought my eyeballs were going to ooze out of their sockets or my brain was going to turn to a jello-like mush from all the time I spent in front of that glowing screen. Who knew? Maybe some obscure tumor would grow in my brain and push my eyeballs out of place. Strangely, I didn't really care because at that time social media was where all my "friends" were. My mom told me to make friends, but she never told me how I was suppose to. I just bent the rules a little. 

Then when the school year came, and my summer time was cut to an end, my mom started noticing that I was withdrawing into myself. At least that was what she told me when we had our annual end of summer "talk". That big "talk", something I dreaded more than actually going to school, was always the same. My mom always told me to be myself, keep my head on straight, study hard, and find friends. That year she stressed the friends part. 

I rolled my eyes at her, but I knew she was right. I was suppose to make more friends offline, be less awkward. But when my feet hit the front step at Moulton High School, my heart almost literally sank into my stomach. My mouth went dry, my palms got sweaty, and when I wanted to say something to someone no words would come out of my mouth. I had to just nod at people, looking like some stuck up prick who was better than everyone. Maybe I over exaggerated that, but that was how it felt. 

It was the worst first day I had ever had in my eleven years of schooling. What made it worse was the fact that there was a new girl, a hot new girl, who I wanted so desperately to talk to, but when I opened my mouth to say hello it sounded like a baby mouse squeaking. I felt awful, and she didn't even notice me. 

Enough about my emotional stand-point on women though. Being unable to talk to people in the real world meant that my dating life was, well...if I could draw you a diagram it would be represented by a big circle that represents all the virgins in the world. Now, inside of that circle there is a smaller circle nearer the edge of the big circle. That smaller circle represents all seventeen-year-old guys with one leg. Then, above where you spelled the word virgin, there is a little dot over one of the capital is; no, that's not a misprint. That's me. But whatever. Relationships aren't on my high priority list at the time.