#willreads

Because the dread told me that I was on the precipice of fucking everything up. That one day, very soon, it would strike, and it would take, and it would kill.

Sometimes the dread actually did strike—and it struck often with men. I was confidently flirtatious with boys I dated: But as soon as we made things official, the dread would ring like tinnitus in my ears. In the first months of a new relationship, I had dismal visions: A boyfriend flashed me an impatient look and I fast-forwarded through to the end, to some tragic domestic scene five years later when out love was spent and all that was left was resentment. In order to quell these disturbing prophecies, I asked for affirmation over and over, fishing for compliments every time I looked in the mirror: Ugh, my skin is so bad right now. How can you love me? Oh, I’m so stupid. You should just dump me. You still like me, right?

I asked them for support, asked if I could come over even though I just saw them yesterday. Then I freaked out that I was turning into a needy leech and pushed them away. I disappeared for days, and when I returned, I was resentful of them for abandoning me. (p.52)

Eventually, all men tired of these charades. […] And once I sensed the men pulling away from me, I pulled away, too, so I could be the decider, the one with agency in the impending split. (p.53)