A message of sight

It’s time. I need to tell my crush how I feel about him. While this simple rule of communication is clear and concise on the surface, in my head it is a clusterfuck of thoughts and feelings, including but not limited to scary ones like “Insecurity,” “Oh, shit,” and “I just want to eat Nutella with a spoon and watch Oprah with you.”

I am an actor. I was a communications major. I was a state champion debater. I won first place in my Performing Arts Club three years in a row for making the best animal sounds, for shit's sake. Why can’t I disclose information of this nature without putting myself through a month of anguish first?

I guess I am slightly guilty of enjoying the hell that potential heartsickness brings. It's like hope with alcohol breath. Regardless, I have spent most of my life doing this, either proactively or retroactively cultivating heartbreak to the point of multi-faceted and self-manifested psychosis. I use up so much energy avoiding the moment that I have trouble remembering what day it is. I tend to save up life in little Ziploc bags and enjoy it in private sessions, where I can play it to a soundtrack of my choice.

Chronic Moment Avoidance Syndrome (C-MAS) aside, in the last week I have gained insight into the essence of my aforementioned crush. I have seen him, and I still like the motherfucker. The importance of this phenomenon is not to be abased.

I once read an article about how important it is for people to be “seen.” Friends and family can get so accustomed to who you are that they begin to observe you in concept but not in detail. You become a stranger to them, a creature caged into rigid boundaries of who they have decided you are and aren't. Yet, in the most random and awkward of times, you meet someone outside of your circle who peers into your soul (and perhaps even smiles and waves at it). You feel good about the transaction because you realize you’re still alive, that you’re a person who is capable of being discovered. You’re new, interesting, and possibly desired. That’s why people have affairs. Well, that and because people are whores.

Anyway, I saw him. I shall tell him in a few minutes. My next entry will undoubtedly be about the beauty of moving on, but maybe in the process he will have seen me, too.