I’ve never been great at being social. I was a nervous child who rarely spoke out of turn. Add a paranoid schizophrenia diagnosis, and you have a recipe for anti-social behavior. I don’t even really comment on Facebook. I’m one of those incessant likers. I face the fear that something I say will not be appropriate or professional or socially acceptable. Every time I click “post” I have this anxiety that there will be something I said that will offend someone. I’m the same in real life. Sometimes I stutter or struggle to get the right words out, which makes me self-conscious. Balancing schizophrenia and Not Being Awkward is a challenge for me each day.
I won’t be able to sleep. I know this even before I lie down. It’s 12 and I didn’t wake up until 8 and I just finished the largest sized cup of iced coffee you can get from Starbucks. The new Starbucks in town is nice, but busy. It’s the first trendy thing that has popped up here. Give me a Trader Joe’s, and I would have died and gone to heaven.
I open my eyes every so often to look at my phone. It’s on vibrate so I’ll know if a message comes in, but this is not enough to stop me from doing so. I wait, just like I do every other day, from a text from him. Which doesn’t make any sense. The last time I heard from him, he was “getting married in a few months.” It’s been more than a few months, whatever a few means. He has a wife, a house, money in the bank, and sperm that’s ready to make life. Why would he text me? He wouldn’t, but that’s not enough to stop me from wondering if he will. Maybe he’ll realize he loves me too much to get married and invite me to San Diego, like on that one day we spent together. My laugh is sinister in the peaceful confines of my bedroom. Yeah, right.