I'm 35 years old. I'm the most socially awkward person you'd ever meet. In spite of that, today I was prepared to ask a girl out for the first time.
This past Tuesday, I went to the restaurant where she works. She wasn't there, which was unusual. Her co-worker told me she was getting photos done. I didn't inquire further, thinking I'll just ask about it next time I see her.
They were wedding photos. Her upcoming trip to Yellowstone she had previously mentioned wasn't a vacation. It's her honeymoon.
For context, my last two years of high school were a living hell. There was a girl I was obsessed with, but never had the courage to speak to. This experience led to me taking Zoloft during my first year of college. Almost 20 years later, I felt like I was making progress, being able to talk to someone I was attracted to, getting to know them on a personal level. But I fell into the trap of thinking I was a main character, that my story arc would have a happy ending. But it turns out I'm not a main character.
And for an extra dose of cruelty, this revelation comes sandwiched right between the wedding anniversaries of my sister and cousin.
I know nobody here cares, but I have no one else to tell. I'm just so tired of being hopeful. I just can't do it anymore. I just have to accept that I wasn't destined to feel happiness.
This sentence has five words. This sentence has eight words. Only one sentence in this signature is true.