The discovery that I was in love hit me like a ton of bricks and made me completely freak out. I had been walking along, minding my own business, thinking of what I was going to do that day when BAM! My immediate reaction was to run. Far, far away. But I didn’t. I stayed rooted to the spot, eyes wide like a deer in a car’s headlights and my brain ticking over like an overworked machine.
And I had a panic attack.
I’d never experienced this. Love, I mean, not a panic attack. It was a feeling and emotion completely unfamiliar to me and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do next.
Did I tell him?
Did I wait for him to tell me first?
Did we count down from 10 and then say it together?
I went home but I couldn’t stay in my apartment by myself. I felt I was going crazy. I needed to get out, walk around and most of all, to write it out.
And boy, did I write it out.
I wrote a huge ‘letter’ documenting exactly how I feel and I sent it to him. I didn’t use the words I couldn’t even admit to myself, but he would get the general drift.
And then I waited.
And waiting was the hardest part of all.