Surviving An Unrequited Crush

It is with nervous vigour that I seek to answer a question of utmost importance. I am firmly perched upon the seat of all great thought — the toilet. In striking similarity to Isaac Newton, the answer I am in desperate search of is to be revealed by a well-meaning apple. The only difference is that the Apple in question will go on to deliver an intangible rather than tangible injury. Yes, I am well aware that I will not be making a revolutionary breakthrough in the realm of physics either. Anyway, my fingers begin to scroll through the content on the screen of my phone. I draw in a long breath and dare to look — do the ten signs that I totally have an unrequited crush apply to me?

The learned article that I have consulted for much-needed advice immediately delivers a significantly larger blow than the fateful afternoon on which I excitedly ran into the very transparent glass door of a candy store (I solemnly swear that I was below fourteen years of age). The said article asks if I feel a constricting flutter in my gut every time I think of my crush. Obviously, my ever-forgetful brain runs into no technical difficulties in recalling:

1. The unnecessarily loud breathing pattern I adopt when I think about my crush; it’s like a beatboxer, only if they were trying to perform in vacuum and at the speed, I inhale doughnuts. Regardless, Pentatonix would want me as a sixth member.

2. The swoon-worthy manner in which my heart sinks into my large intestine at the very thought of my crush. To replace the absence of my unfortunately displaced heart is the weight of everything reminding me of my crush. Yes, I like theatre, why do you ask? And no, I did not think of my crush while purchasing laundry detergent online.

3. Now, when an absolutely rational individual like me thinks so much about voh, it is quixotically obvious that I have done my detailed research about them. To my potential life partner, beware. I pay very close attention to your behaviour with regards to me. And negatively analyse every constricting aspect of the same. And assume the worst. And complain to one very pitiful soul. I’m sorry mom.

As my romantically over-used and academically under-used brain finishes recalling these unfortunate happenings, I come to realise that a majority of the obviously unknowledgeable website’s signs have been checked off. As I now resort to remembering the Great Almighty in a pleading manner, the list proceeds to question my religiosity in relation to my crush. The irony is not lost on me. What is lost, however, is my ongoing digestion process, as the merciless article metaphorically slaps me on my face with one last god-loving sign. A picture of a teenager afflicted with a case of angst poetically asks me if I feel crushed by my crush. This is the last time I try to entertain myself with articles whilst in the bathroom, I think. Damn you, Sarah from Cosmo.

What I also think — or wish, rather — is on the more sorrowful side, however. I wish that my first and last thought of the day weren’t my crush. I wish I could rid myself of the heavy breathing, weighed down heart, and constant overthinking that my crush manufactures in me. Most importantly, however, I naively wish I could let go and move on. I’m trying my level best but my crush can be rather overwhelming, rather persistent, and rather suffocating. That’s why I’m writing to all of you in the hope that we can converge at the dhaba for a conversation because I’ve been told that my crush is extremely popular. Do you know them? Their name is anxiety.