Social Network Anxiety

As I slip my rings off my fingers for the night and turn on some Anna Nalick, I realize you haven't replied to my Facebook message after at least a day. My heart drops. Then, I'm fairly sure my heart has dropped even further into my stomach as I become aware that you are currently online. You go offline as soon as I go online, and I begin having difficulty breathing. I try telling myself it isn't anything personal, but naturally, I jump to the worst case scenario. 


As a vague example, this is how it goes:


Message: So how are you?
(No reply after ten minutes.)
Thoughts: I guess he just isn't online.
(No reply after two hours.)
Thoughts: Did I say something wrong?
(No reply after five hours, seeing him going on and offline.)
Thoughts: Oh my god, he must have had an epiphany of some sort and decided that he isn't going to talk to me ever again. 
(No reply after a day.)
Thoughts: I really, really miss him and want to talk to him, but I don't want to be more annoying than I already have been.
(No reply after a day and a few hours.)
Thoughts: I guess he hates me now. I shouldn't even try. Why am I so stupid?


I realize how desperate this sounds, but when you're seeking the attention of someone you care about, you tend to become very sensitive to this form of unspoken virtual language. There is a plethora of reasons why the message has not been acknowledged; they may not have an opportunity to reply, they may not know what to say, they may not want to talk at the moment... But of course, the brain will immediately jump to conclusions and tell us that we are eternally damned for sending an innocent message.


As ridiculous as it sounds, I know a good amount of people who have felt this way before. I have heard of cases in which the girl has jumped to the conclusion that the recipient isn't responding because he detests her, and she says something like, "I'm so sorry for whatever I did. Can we talk about this? Just please respond to me." Surprisingly, when placed under these circumstances, it takes a great deal of self-control not to send a message that extreme.


This is one of the many burdens that social networking has caused. It's times like these that make me wonder if it's more of a curse than a blessing that we have access to each other 100% of the time.


(And after I finish this post, I check Facebook and see that I have one new message. I get unnecessarily giddy before I realize it is from someone else...


Let's see how neurotic a human can become before they explode. We might as well make an experiment out of this.)

Taking Chances (Weekend Update)

Surprisingly, I feel content.

On Friday I was invited to attend a casual Harry Potter marathon (which was right up my alley) at the house of one of my co-workers, Mike. Given that he's five years my senior, I struggled with the decision. I didn't know any of his friends and had no clue what to expect.

When he extended the invitation, I said, "You're serious?" He replied with "Why not? There shouldn't be a lot of thought involved. You are welcome in our home."

I realized in that moment that I take life far too seriously. Life is for taking chances, experimenting and experiencing, fucking up and learning, succeeding. 

Why not?

I showed up Saturday afternoon and was in Mike's basement with two of his friends on whom I had never laid eyes. We began in unpleasant silence, but after a few hours we were nearly crying from laughter (and we hadn't even drank.) I was ridiculously comfortable with all of them, and I felt free to be myself.

I'm so thankful I decided to take that chance. I suppose sometimes you'll never warm up to the water if you don't jump in feet first.

New goal: Take chances. Worry less. Venture with the tides. Remember that you have nothing to lose.

Home Is Where the Inspiration Is

I am back in Reisterstown.

The air is dry and bitter.

My room is oddly small.

The floorboards make the same doleful sounds they always have.

My clothing lies in the same haphazard piles in which it was left.

The same skeletons remain in the small, harshly fluorescent closet.

I forced myself to forget that all this shit belonged to me.

This is the main reason why I don't enjoy vacations much. It's similar to drinking too much; you forget all stresses momentarily, but you inevitably come back to yourself, and then those stresses seem so much more prominent.

I don't have coping skills and I don't have anyone to lighten the burden.

I need help, I need help, I need help.

This home isn't where I belong. I belong where my heart wants to be. I belong in a place that isn't going to cause brackish tears to sting my face as they are right now. I belong in a place that inspires me to live, inspires me to prosper, and encourages growth rather than stifles all inspiration and cultivates nothing other than self-destructive thoughts.

To me, home isn't where one happened to be born. Home may not even be where one's family resides. Home is where one feels strong, insightful, and inspired, even if only for a moment. I've felt like that in this house earlier on in my life, but right now, this isn't what my soul needs.

Never have I felt so childishly vulnerable.

I need help, I need a hug, I need help.