maybe i was never real to begin with
on teenage crushes, misremembered moments and the ache of being invisible again
The excavation continues this week on The Rumor Mill.
The emotional blows soften over time. These stories no longer exist in the forefront of my mind - they truly are funny stories I retell to others occasionally.
Subconsciously - that’s another story. These tales reconfigured my hardware and made me into the person I am at this moment. As stories often do. I type as the child me who just wanted someone to agree, That was really mean.
It is important to me to add - I was still a teenager. And I was immature and a raging bitch. So if you read this and think this sounds familiar, sorry in advance.
Sit with me as I take us back in time - ten years ago - to be exact.
As a girl, I had a few simple rules.
Be yourself and the good will follow.
Never chase anything. (This rule has made me a bit lazy, but more on that later)
The emotionally unavailable typically find me minding my business. And I mean this wholeheartedly. Over the years, I’ve questioned if someone has placed a sticky note on my back.
I do have a habit of handing out emotional intimacy relatively quickly. I can only imagine how it feels to be a teenage boy and the first girl you speak to acts like the sun is shooting out of your ass.
These stories always begin with boys pursuing me quite frantically for friendship. I would turn my head and he would be standing there. He would take my things and have me chase him around to get it back - actually, this reads like bullying.
I was confused and slightly annoyed - until I told my parents and they suggested that he had a crush on me. And I was giddy with excitement. Irritation morphed into infatuation. And when I began to reciprocate, it only deepened our bond and what I felt. I hesitate to call anything love because I don’t believe teenagers have the capacity for it - but it felt pretty close to it at the time.
He had a girlfriend at the time and I sensed she did not like me (rightfully so). We spent a lot of time together and I actively sought out his presence. I would leave my class to walk up a flight of stairs and wave at him from the door. When we shared classes, we would be partners and when class ended, we would wait for each other at the door to walk with each other down the hall. I almost joined debate club after serious convincing. We sat - arms and legs touching - next to each other in study hall.
People broke up - and other friends were chosen. And I don’t want to tell another story of friendship betrayal.
The Girl That Was Picked wasn’t my friend by any means, we just had proximity. But it always felt like an intentional act of sabotage.
In a true display of dishonesty, I hid behind the idea of principle and friendship. In reality, I was hurt that I had thought this time would be different. And I was hurt that I had let myself be fooled once again.
To go from feeling as though my entire soul was on display, to silence, to denial, to invisibility all over again? It didn’t just hurt. It made me feel like I imagined the entire thing. Like maybe I was never real to begin with.
I was isolated and alone again. My female friends tried to help me through it, but what I had done fractured our friend group. It peaked in a big, emotional blowout fight in our cafeteria. And the raging bitch side of me came out - and he wouldn’t even look at me.
I remember trying to apologize, so at least he wouldn’t hate me. And he outright dismissed me. I felt foolish. Once again, I Ruined Everything and it was unforgivable.
As an adult, I’m more curious about how these experiences can change you. If things had been a clear yes or no, my hurt would have felt justified. But the nuance was subtle and my pain had to be as a result. I wonder what it taught me. What it took from me.
Often, I wonder if the body seeks out the familiar. I existed in a state of impermanence at home, among my family. If I wasn’t immediately in front of someone with my hand extending an offering, I was forgotten. And I was trained to never ask for what I needed.
These dynamics operate on a plane that feels dream-like. Stating - I like you. And I feel like you like me too - makes the dynamic real and ruins the illusion. In a way - I likely wasn’t real in his mind. I liked him a lot and he didn’t have to do anything to earn that.
But now I’m a person that expects you to reciprocate. And that’s a heavy burden for a fifteen-year-old boy to be expected to carry. So I get small doses of puppy love. They poke and prod, run in circles around my feet and when I go to pick them up - they sprint off.
Maybe I’m misremembering. Maybe I’m overemphasizing the importance of this experience. Truly, I don’t think about this much anymore. But with many things of my childhood - I still carry with me the weight of how it felt.
I’ve been terrified for a long time that someone would say:
No, you’re not remembering that correctly.
This is why I want to go beyond My Friends Were Mean To Me.
What lies underneath?
It’s not about heartache and betrayal, but the sleepy, dream-like sadness of adolescence.
I had a crush and a best friend.
And I remember how it made me feel.
And that? That was real.
If this cracked something open in you, good. Me too.
💌 Find more essays like this under Girl on the Verge or Woman on the Cusp.
🌀 Start here if you’re new or just lost and spiraling gently.