In Perspective: Unrequited Love

I once liked a boy, who didn’t like me.
A boy even liked me once, but I didn’t like him.

Unrequited love–My marital status throughout most of middle and high school. (Later on in life, I got a bit more lucky.)

Life is rough when you’re a boyfriendless, fourteen-year-old girl suffering from a crazy little thing called unrequited love. (Oh wait, those aren’t the lyrics.) But come on, everyone would have to agree that unrequited love sucks at any age! It fits oh, so, snugly under the category The Worst Feeling in the Whole Entire World. Some other things would include: waking up five minutes before you have to be at work while rushing out the door (sans shower and coffee), experiencing food poisoning on vacation, and having dreams nightmares where one is pregnant (But, man, what a relief waking up!).

Like most teenage girls, my life was defined by the opposite sex. (We can thank Disney for that one.) Did I have a boyfriend? Did anyone like me? Did I even like anyone? I remembering “liking” multiple boys just to increase my chances of getting a boyfriend. It didn’t work, of course. I also remember “liking” boys just to make my life more interesting because what woman doesn’t love to over-analyze when a man says “fine” and “sure.” Does he, like, really mean that? Something is totally wrong.

While most of my friends were out catching boyfriends, I was sulking in my room wondering, “Why not me?” My online and handwritten journals were filled with the unrequited-love blues. After all, it can be quite detrimental to a person’s ego, especially a shy, insecure girl going through puberty. Imagine that you have finally found the courage (it was hiding behind procrastination and motivation, by the way) to go up to that someone, who you’ve only watched from afar, and proclaim your feelings to only receive absolutely nothing in return.

But then again, should we be surprised by the outcome? We aren’t in the movies. Our crushes wouldn’t just confess that they, too, have been watching us from afar all along. This could be the cause of unrequited love! The cause being we are lusting after people who are simply out of our league. When we are younger, our parents tell us we can be anything we want to be when we grow up. In our simple minds we figured we could have anyone we wanted as well, regardless of how attractive they were. We are setting ourselves up to be unloved in return.

Alas, I must touch on both sides of the spectrum. (As I have been found on both sides before.) Surely we have all had our fair share of people who we weren’t interested in, but who clearly were interested in us.

I had a really good friend during my freshman year of high school. The said friend was a boy and he liked me, a lot. (He actually confessed his love for me.) Although flattered, I had no interest in him. I told him that he was my good friend and that’s all I could ever see him as. Ouch, Jamie! On the other hand, I knew exactly how he felt because at the same time I was pining for the popular tall, dark, and handsome boy in the junior class, who had no idea of my existence. Oh, high school.

Fortunately by the time I entered my senior year of high school, I had finally experienced requited love. (I could finally relate to those damn love songs!) So, what’s the secret? Time. I was no longer that awkward 14-year-old girl going through puberty. I’ve continued to grow as a person since then. I got smarter, hotter, and funnier all the while attracting better quality men each and every time. Soon enough, you’re bound to meet the perfect person for you. So don’t worry, pubescent person reading my blog, you’ll get rid of the unrequited-love bug soon enough. Just give it time.

Or maybe lower your standards?

*Getty Images

That girl.

She’s the girl you see at the bar. She’s usually laughing (it’s more than likely infectious). She’s sipping her cocktail, and has an amazing pair of heels that complement her attitude. Men are gawking, all the while. Each of them discovering the words pouring from her mouth, fascinating. They all stare at her lips in anticipation of what will be said next. I never know what she is saying, (Hell, it could be rather dull) but I still envy her.

She is confident. She is funny. She is attractive. She knows this while she looks at herself in the mirror, getting ready for the day. She can easily charm the people surrounding her. Why? Why does it appear to be so easy for her? What is her secret?

Is it because men are surrounding her? Does that make her more confident? Because she has often been told she is funny by the opposite sex? That she is attractive? That the words eloquently rolling off of her tongue are fascinating? Is it the shoes? Or is it all an act?

I’m insecure. My choice of shoes (flats) reveal my fear: the humiliation of falling in public. I laugh a lot to fill in the awkward gaps where small talk should be placed. I’m an introvert. Words don’t eloquently pour out of my mouth. I mumble over my words when I don’t re-play in my mind eight times of what I will say out loud.

I am uncomfortable in my own skin.

Even if I get the slightest attention from anybody (namely the opposite sex) other than who I am with, I think horrible thoughts. Oh, dear! Did I forgot to wipe all the toothpaste off my face? Is my zipper undone? The thoughts are never him possibly thinking: Wow, I think she has an amazing smile! or She seems like a real, groovy chick. I want to discuss the meaning of life, and what she would do if life handed her lemons. (I would peel them, throw them at people and hope the juice would get into their eyes.)

I often wish I was that girl at the bar.

In the beginning of relationships, I have that confidence. I feel like I am that girl at the bar for a moment or two. Inevitably, when I get dumped, I’m back to who I previously had been. (Or maybe it’s who I’ve always been.)

After my break up with A, I vowed to myself that I needed to be on my own for a while. During most of those two years together, I relied on him to be the one to tell me how great I was. The one to tell me how lucky he was to be with someone, like me. The one that broke down my barrier, releasing my confidence. It was always a relief when I could finally be myself around a person and they found it absolutely charming. (No, really! I am quite funny.)

I relied on reading self-help books and talking to anyone who would listen to my whining about the break up. I kept reading and hearing, “You must learn to love yourself. Otherwise, if you can’t even love yourself, how could anyone else?” What does that even mean? I do love myself! I think?

No I didn’t.

Otherwise, I would be comfortable in my own skin. Right? I wouldn’t need to rely on the opposite sex to tell me how fascinating I am, nor would I need a man to be happy. That’s the problem with most relationships. More often than not we aren’t in love with ourselves. We rely solely on one person (who aren’t even ourselves!) for that happiness. Rather, the person should just add to your already batch of happiness.

That’s the girl at the bar’s secret: she is in love with herself. She really is smart. After all, it makes sense. Yourself wouldn’t let you down. Yourself wouldn’t go cheat on someone else. Yourself wouldn’t break your heart.

But how does a person fall in love with themselves? It seems like it’s awfully hard to start over with yourself, especially after knowing yourself for 22 years. But if I looked at it from the other spectrum, a break up is really just a new beginning. It’s the perfect time to start over. (Even if it’s just dying your hair a dark brown.)

Since mid 2008, I have kept my vow and have been on my own. I’ve been unhappy, but I’ve also been quite happy with where I have been. I am in love with myself. I think?

I recently was asked, “Are you really in love with yourself, Jamie?” I quickly said yes. But then I thought about it.

I’m still terribly insecure with myself. I blush when I get compliment from someone. No! You’re just being nice! I refuse to accept that he thinks I’m attractive when I have no makeup on, and that my arms are perfect just the way they are.

Maybe I really haven’t been all on my own. Perhaps the person I am now isn’t truly the person I am supposed to be. I’m hoping this move across the country will allow me to become the person I am supposed to be. This will be the ultimate test of being content on my own. I will be in a place where no one will know who I am or have ever been. It’s a fresh start. I won’t be judged if I go against the norms of who I used to be. Those negative thoughts when I get a double-take from someone will remain here, in Florida.

When I am the one telling myself how great I am, the one breaking down my own barrier to release my confidence, and looking in the mirror believing that I really do have an amazing smile, will be the day I can say I am truly in love with myself.