Dear... You
I’m not good at this. Hopeless, really. I’d tell you what I meant if I even had a clue myself.
I'll call myself Ellie Dee, for the sake of all things anonymous. I am 18 years old, I come from a family of six, of which I am the youngest. I am currently enrolled in University and working toward a degree in mathematics. In my free time I like to read, watch netflix and trashy tv shows, paint (my sketching is atrocious so please don’t even ask), and reorganize my room.
At least that would be what I would tell you if this were one of those awkward get-to-know-you situations we all seem to find ourselves in more often than we’d like to admit. The ones where we give our mostly honest opinions of ourselves and try to paint ourselves in a light that helps us make a little more sense.
In reality, I am an 18 year old girl who has only ever gone on one date, who gives advice without having the experience to back it up, who cried watching several marvel movies in theatres, who considers every boy she meets as a potential love, who overthinks literally every aspect of her life, and doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. Nice to meet you.
I used to think that everyone had the same thought process as me: observing, analyzing, preparing, and performing. Because that’s what I did. What I do. Most situations I get into only ever really see the first three stages. For example: after having gone on my first date a few months into my first year of university (oof, it’s a struggle, I know), my date and I slowly lost touch and over the course of a few weeks; whatever flame I thought I felt had been extinguished. I wasn’t heartbroken - not that I should’ve been after only one date, but you get what I mean - but I was worried about what would happen the next time we ran into each other at school. For months, as I walked to class, I invariably considered my carefully orchestrated plans for what I would do if it happened to be the day we saw each other again after not having spoken in so long. So I’m melodramatic, sue me. I’m aware that he and I had literally been on one date, but that’s how my mind works. I drum up any possible scenario and work out how I would react and deal with it. (I never even ended up seeing him on any of my walks to or from class, so all that time spent worrying and preparing? A complete waste).
I’m also not good at putting my thoughts into words. You have no idea how many times I’ve started documents like this, only to get a page in and realize that what I had written didn’t pertain to what I was thinking at all. It’s like a runaway train, except I’m just trying to write something that makes sense; that has a story line. So many words erased because they came out wrong, so many thoughts forgotten because I didn’t realize I had thought them in time to write them down. If I could try to explain how my thoughts work, they might be a crowd of people on a sidewalk: each on their own paths, utterly unconnected, and moving quickly. I don’t often talk a lot because I often feel I regret it when I do; what I’ve said doesn’t justify the point I’m trying to get across or remotely even reveal what I wanted it to. If you don’t have something useful or clever to say...
Recently, in a conversation with my new brother-in-law, another of my confusing and debilitating traits was finally defined. Apparently I have a problem with compartmentalizing. I’m not good at dealing with emotions, and often find myself gripping the lid I keep on them. I let out what seems appropriate and tighten my hold on the ones that remain. You might see this in my disinclination to appear surprised by news (unless it pertains to the situation at hand), and my complete and utter lack of understanding how to fall in love. Over the years I have assimilated many different stories of people falling in love: sometimes it happens slowly or all at once. Sometimes someone finds exactly what they’re looking for and sometimes people meet someone who is the complete opposite of what they thought they needed. I couldn’t count how many love stories I’ve read about or listened to, and every time I feel as if having read another could help me in finding my happy ending, and every time I’m left as the same confused, constantly overthinking girl I’ve always been. I would like to think that the whole process can be carefully planned and executed like a story in a book, but I also know that it just so happens to be one of the most unpredictable and uncertain things that anyone ever does. I honestly don’t know how people do it. (And yes, I know I’m only 18, but apparently this is one of those things that I just can’t get out of my head, so please just bear with me).
That funny little compartmentalizing thing also explained another weird symptom I’d been experiencing when I got into certain situations; in these unnamed situations my whole body kind of vibrates. It’s like I’m shivering, but more constant and minus the cold. The thing is, this happens even if my mind is completely at ease. I think I have concluded that it is some sort of subconscious panic attack caused by my aforementioned habit of compartmentalizing. It’s an absolute hoot.
I also have a horrible memory. I typically have a hard time remembering things I’ve done. This made writing a speech for my sister’s wedding incredibly difficult. People typically include lots of funny memories and anecdotes from their pasts together in their carefully crafted, written out beforehand, speeches. I was left with a rambling recollection of part of a summer when I was between eighth and ninth grades where I pieced together random memories that I’m not sure actually even occurred in that timeline.
I’ll never be a novelist or an award winning public speaker, and I’m not even sure if everything I wanted to convey came out in this letter. But I had to try, and if you’re reading this, I hope you’re having a little more luck with whatever this is than I am.