You know when girls get together and have sleepovers? The sexy pillow fights are totally fake, but the flirting is hardcore real, I can tell you that much. And you know what else is real? We talk about boys. A lot. Boyfriend, girlfriend, single, never dated anyone – doesn’t make a shred of difference where sleepovers are involved. We lay it all out on the table. Admittedly, I probably need to learn to have a little more discretion myself.
I was having a sleepover with one of my best friends the other day (yes adults still do that okay – especially ones who don’t drive yet), and she made a comment to me that really got me thinking. She said, “Yeah, I know that everyone says I’m cool and pretty and stuff, but I’m just me. Why would a guy ever like me?”
Before I dive into this, let me tell you guys a little bit about myself.
I’m kinda cool, okay? I’ve got a cute face, I’m pretty short, I can have a conversation with just about anyone on the planet, and, especially when I worked in retail, I had at least seven people flocking to me everyday because they adored me so much. Awesome.
Actually, I suck.
I’ve had six freak out panic attacks strictly in this past week, and I’ve roped both my family and my boyfriend into at least four of them. I’m relatively unstable, a little bit insane, and when I talk, I say things like ‘btws,’ and ‘totes ma goats.’ I like to pretend I have it all together, but I’m so terrified that I’m going to screw up that I second guess every decision I make. I’m snarky, moody, take my anger out in sarcastic comments instead of honestly, and I’m pretty sure I’m a borderline chronic liar. I adore violence and gore to the point it’s probably sick, and watch serial killer documentaries as comfort TV. Not only that, but I’ve got an ego the size of a large city, have a tendency to think I’m better than everyone else but at the same time hate myself without makeup on. I’m clingy, let people walk all over me, have a huge tendency to be manipulative and deceptive, have a small capacity for empathy, and am, frankly, a bit of a jerk. I literally have to remind myself daily to talk to people, or else I simply won’t, just because I think my tasks are more important than keeping up with my friends.
I’m sure I could go on.
The point is, I’m no walk in the park. In the second week of dating, I spent two hours at midnight, making my boyfriend stay on the phone with me, as I cried and talked to him about how he wouldn’t like me because I’m irrational and scared of kissing. Last night, I did the same thing again, and it’s been a year. I rarely ever talk to him outright, but text him snarky comments that only end up ticking him off – and as I mentioned before – he’s had to deal with four of my break downs in the span of just as many days. Some of those which happened on Valentines, our one year anniversary, and other such days.
And yet, at the same time, he still tells me he loves me. He still comes up to check on me to make sure I’m okay, still tucks me in to bed, and still humors me when I have my tenth panic attack this week. He listens when I talk, no matter how long it takes me to get around to what I need to say, and he’s always there to tell me to relax, because I’m okay. He tells me that I’m not insane, that I should go easier on myself, and I have no reason whatsoever to worry about him leaving. And this is the man who’s renowned for his somewhat blunt tactlessness.
Guys, I have no idea why he loves me. I honestly don’t get it. My face is kinda nice, sure. I get that I’m his type. I cook him food, play with his hair, and try to be as supportive of him as I can be. But is all that worth the work? Really? Then again, for whatever, inexplicable and dumb reason, he loves me regardless.
Back to my friend.
I could go on for hours about everything she has to offer someone. She’s gorgeous, passionate, and friendly to the point that being around her makes you feel like the most special person in the world. She’s adorably awkward, dedicated enough to make an amazing girlfriend, and so turtle loving fun that anyone would adore being with her. Then again, none of that’s going to matter if she doesn’t see it herself.
I guess what I’m trying to say, is that love is inexplicable. It doesn’t make a shred of sense. As someone who analyses everything down to a person’s potential trauma when they were a year old, I kinda hate that. I want to figure it out. I want it to make sense, to be something understandable, but it’s not. Someone just loves you. I just love someone. Why? You could probably list a hundred and one reasons, but none of them are ever going to cover it. It’s not something you can chalk down to lists or charts or anything scientific, it’s just the way it goes.
So my message to my friend, and anyone else in her same position – including myself, to be honest – is that someone, at some time or another, will come along and adore you for some reason or another. And no, you probably won’t have an answer to your ‘why’ question. It’ll probably never ever make sense. But if someone can inexplicably love me in all my flaws and failures, I have doubt that there’s someone, somewhere, who can love you just as inexplicably. Sometimes, things that don’t make sense are the things you can rely on the most.