It turns out, like most people, I’m hyper-sensitive to rejection. So when I was turned down, not once, but twice (thrice, if you count another minor sub-story) for something as innocuous as lunch, I began to panic, hyper-ventilate, and seriously doubt my abilities as a human being.
You know, standard fare.
Yes, the rational part of me could vaguely grasp the notion that she genuinely might be too busy to hang out—or whatever it is her excuse was—but as always, that logic was soon drowned by the emotionally-underdeveloped side which just had to make it all about me. All about my inadequacies… ones that ensured I wasn’t even enjoyable enough to grab a bite with.
Given how innocuous the whole affair was, I didn’t know this would get to me so much. But it did. Usually, I’m left to myself thinking, “If I do make a move right now, something will definitely happen. Nothing’s happening only because I choose to do nothing.” But incidents like these seem to tell a different tale: Nothing’s going to happen even if I make a move; for I am who I am.
I really wanted to write about something entirely different today, but I suppose this is what has been playing prominently on my mind all day. The thoughts returned when I ran into her at a time when she said we couldn’t meet.
She looked haggard and was rushing between arduous tasks—tired and spent. It turns out she really was insanely occupied after all. At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself so I can go to sleep now.