I was 15 and I was in love with a boy.
Those of you who know me probably know who it is, and maybe it’s even too soon to write about this publicly (?) but it’s too late now, I’ve already started typing and the idea of how I want to write this has already kind of formulated in my brain.
He had told me he liked me and he had kissed me, and I kissed him back. I was over the moon– I was so happy I didn’t even know what to do with myself. We had hung out a lot over the past few months but just as friends, and I knew that he knew how I felt, but he had never done anything about it up until that point and I was too scared to try myself. And finally it happened.
I waited. I waited a week for him to ask me to hang out again, because we kind of took turns doing that and it was his turn– but he didn’t text me. He didn’t message me on Facebook, didn’t come up to me at school. I was in my awkward phase of avoiding everything that I didn’t know how to immediately deal with (which I’m still not really over, but that’s besides the point), so we weren’t exactly talking to each other in settings with people.
This was something that I wanted so badly, and his silence terrified me. I was scared of losing him– I would rather have had him as a friend than not at all, but I did want him to want me the same way that I wanted him. So I decided that I wasn’t satisfied with just waiting, I wasn’t okay with not knowing where I stood with him, and that I wanted to do something about it.
I knew that he had a study hall 2nd period. I was in gym at that time, but I had a teacher who didn’t really notice whether or not you left or whether or not you participated most of the time, so I just left and went upstairs to his study hall.
Taking a deep breath, I walked into the classroom full of students, making a beeline straight for him. I tapped him on the shoulder and asked if I could talk to him for a second. I think he was taken aback because I never talked to him at school, but he followed me out into the hallway.
“What’s up?” he asked.
I looked at him, standing unsuspecting in front of me. I wasn’t really sure how I planned on doing this, but I knew that I wanted to and I knew that I had to do it for myself. I had to be brave. I took a deep breath: “I’m going to try something, okay?” I said nervously. I could feel my palms sweating at my sides. Then I leaned forward and kissed him– just a tiny, perfect peck on the lips, and pulled away quickly.
He was staring at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide. I will never forget the look on his face– he looked like someone had just smacked him. Then I turned and ran.
Maybe running away wasn’t the best thing I could’ve done, but it’s something that I tend to do when I don’t know what to do. In this situation, I literally sprinted down the hallway, shouting “SORRY I’M SORRY” behind me past a few confused people. (Typical Amanda.)
Kissing him was the bravest thing I have ever done. I knew how I felt and I knew that I wanted to do something about it, so I did.
The reason that I’m writing about this now is not because I’m reminiscing, but because I wish I could still make decisions about what I want and how to get what I want like that, and then follow through. I wish I had the courage to admit to myself what needs to happen in order for me to be happy (I don’t mean just in my romantic relationships but with everything else, too) and then just do it.
I find that when I am scared or anxious, it’s because something is going on that involves one of two things: me making a decision, or something I can’t control. Making decisions is hard– they take courage and a certain understanding of yourself and what you want. And then when you’ve figured that out, you have to actually do something about it and that’s even harder. You can sit idly by while stuff happens to you, or you can be what helps along the change.
Something I have to remind myself constantly is that I can’t control other people. I can’t control how other people feel, and most importantly, I can’t control how other people feel about me. It scares me all the time. I hate the idea of people not liking me, so I try really hard to be likable. Sometimes it doesn’t work and I hate that. I hated the idea that this boy would go back and decide on his own that he didn’t like me anymore.
At this point in my life, I am scared about deciding. I am scared of what others think of me, and that I can’t fix myself to be what other people want. I am not brave, and I wish I was.