The Horror of Waiting for the Text.

When I had to text you, I used to be scared; I had the habit of checking the message box continuously until the reply popped up. A whole series of unwanted drama took place in my head. When I couldn’t find your text, I used to get stressed. I kept checking my connection for umpteenth time, the wait kept me so horrified and busy, wondering if the signal went off or some disturbance were created. As if a mailman was posting my letters to you. But then the bling of DELIVERED and a little hope tingled in my heart.

Now the wait for the reply. The horror of waiting for the text. The waiting was reckless. It seemed like a deadly obsession but somedays I had the visit of panic attacks. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have texted you,” my mind kept reciting it to me. My body temperature rose and mind started to accuse. I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on the phone. A beep and I literally jump. I keep going to the list and scroll over the old messages if any. That is the reason why I delete our conversations as my hands itched to text you.

If I don’t see your number I wouldn’t text you, I think. But my silly head remembers it, I tried to undo it but I barely know how to undo. My head continuously asked me to let you know that I love you and explained me all the scenes were things could go wrong and how I might end up losing.

“Maybe he does not know that you love him,” my mind says.

“You should let him know because you have to fight for what you love,” my mind screams again.

And the role of overthinking begins. What if he is sighing at my messages? What if he thinks I am obsessed with him and he is planning out to cut me off. A lot of what if’s that I never had answers to. Maybe he is irritated by me.  Maybe I made him tried of me and on it goes.

Message seen but no reply yet.

The distress gets more hyped and then the beep. My favorite sound.

“At work. Baby. Will text you later.”

and that puts end to all the scary story my headself kept poking me with.

 

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