The Internal Monologue of A Very Clingy Girl
I suffer from a very specific- and irrational- anxiety. I call my extremely rare, self diagnosed anxiety pattern ‘WhatIfitis’. Basically, whatever minor lapse in your interest or dialogue in me is, it must be because I have done something awful. But what?
He said ‘OK’? He means I am frustrated and bored by you. He didn’t text back for 20 days? I’m on the floor in terror, mentally scanning my entire existence for potential misdemeanors. If you didn’t follow me after we met at that conference, why? If you didn’t like my article, what did I do wrong? Why did you stop talking to me so often? Why don’t you put kisses now? Why don’t you DM me? It is exhausting for you and exhausting for me.
I should point out that I’m not obsessive. I won’t text you every day or stalk your Twitter profile. I definitely won’t call you up. It’s just the general anxiety of potentially pissing you off. I hate confrontation. The only thing I hate more is fearing confrontation.
This can surface in very weird ways. I can be completely convinced someone is angry at me over B and be delighted to discover it is actually a smaller thing, like C. I can create whole scenarios in my head about some supposed slight I may or may not have committed. I managed to convince myself I had ruined a friend’s relationship when in reality I had simply been on holiday and thus assumed absent from group politics.
Unfortunately, my nearest and dearest know my anxiety and can manipulate me. Really want to troll the hell out of me? Block me without explaining why. Ignore my text. Don’t open my WhatsApp. That’s true sadism. I will be in sheer terror for weeks. Vomit level, intoxicating fear and stress. Propranolol can’t save me from myself.
I’m not even a bad person. Not particularly. My worst crimes are being too feminist and loud. I’m a bit of a flake. And always late. But I’m not evil. I won’t desert you when you need me, tell your darkest secrets, sleep with your boyfriend or steal your debit card.
But hey, now you know.