I'm sorry if I seem upset.
I honestly can't tell if it's that or just hormones. And I don't want you to think that I'm overreacting. I'm trying not to, which probably means it's not hormones. So I suppose it'd be unfair if I didn't tell you why I feel this way--even if you're not telling me anything.
Probably the thing I hate the most is not knowing what's going on. I probably inherited that from my mom, because so does she. I cannot stand not knowing what's going on. I'll get frustrated at books and movies with confusing plots or any sort of plot twist (you have betrayed me!). So when someone doesn't inform me of what's up, it forces a terrible, unexplainable, unremovable sort of metal stress on me. It makes it difficult for me to function or even think straight because my train of thought will derail from wherever it was trying to go and become devoted to trying to figure out what on earth is going on. Even if it's the most minor thing, finding out what the heck it is takes all that stress off.
So when you told me a week ago that you'd reply to an email I sent you two months ago and you still haven't responded, I'm stuck. I don't know what's going on. I don't know why you're not responding. I don't know if it means you've had absolutely no time in almost two weeks to respond. I don't know if you just don't feel like talking to me. I don't know if you downright just don't like me. So I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I've tried initiating things, low-key prompting you to respond, and yet you still don't answer. What am I supposed to take from that? I have no idea. You're not giving me anything to go on, any
[break where I unwittingly skipped a page]
signal that I should be doing a certain thing. I don't know. And it frustrates me.
So no, I'm not bothered that you don't want to sit next to me. I respect that you have other friends, and besides, you've already spent a quarter with me anyway. Sure, I thought it'd be nice to sit with you again, but if you don't want to, that's totally fine. Go sit next to someone else. I don't care. Be happy that way. I want you to be happy, I really do.
The thing that's ticking me off is that you don't seem to want to talk to me at all. And as a result, I don't know what's ching on. Now I'm stuck. I can't talk to you, because you don't answer and you don't appear to want to. I haven't told anyone else about the magnitude of this yet because I don't want to sound whiny and like I'm overreacting. And it kills me. It kills me that I have plenty of people I can talk to and I can't. Everything just keeps escalating and it's killing me to keep this up. I can't take it. And now I'm doing the very thing I'm accusing you of, which hurts even more. I can't hold this in. I just can't. If I continue to, things are going to get really bad really quickly.
And I can guarantee that then, you won't want to talk to me at all.
I'm sorry. I really am.
YOU ARE READING
What I could fit in my notebook
Non-FictionThroughout the second half of the school year, whenever I had time or whenever I felt like it, I wrote in a spare notebook I had. By the time I got to the end of the year, I felt like some of the things I'd written were worth mentioning. Though they...
