Downloading app… Sign in with Facebook. Hmm, okay. Wait, is this going to like.. Let everyone on Facebook know I’m using–Oh, nevermind okay. So, set your profile images, say something about yourself? Shit, Tinder, didn’t know you were so deep.
Say something about myself, eh? Hmmm… Shit. What do I say? I… I knit. Wait no, that’s not gonna get me laid. Who fucks the 21 year old who knits? Granny fetishists, that’s who. Okay so.. Hobbies? What do I do for fun. I like… Reddit. Does that.. No that can’t count as a hobby, that sounds alarmingly like I don’t go outside.. Which I mean is true, but I’m not here for outside adventures. Well, unless someone’s into some non-granny kinky shit.
Shit, I didn’t think this would be so hard. Heh, hard.
Because what do I really know about myself? I mean, really? It’s the same on applications and meeting new people… What do you tell someone? Especially someone you just meet? How do you get your entire personality and being across without sounding like the boring shut in you truly are?
Going through my week is just, school, homework, papers, doodles, food, and what is probably an unhealthy amount of one on one time with my laptop. Running errands, oh shit I gotta renew my driver’s license, somebody remind me after this.
Somewhere between graduating from high school and the four years ’till this very moment (well in fact, a few days ago when I wrote this), I’ve lost my sense of self. Everything I do has a purpose, either to do well in school, or to distract me from how not well I’m doing in school.
In the summer it’s working to pay for school, which I’m paying to join the ranks of the gleefully unemployed. I don’t know where I was going with this…
Oh yeah, dating apps! Well, in this case not-so-dating apps. But meeting new people is scary, regardless of whether I’m going to see their genitals or not. And all granny-fucking aside, what do I really know about them? I only know what they want me to know, and vice versa… But what about what I want them to know about me?
There are some things that, well, that aren’t so easy to hide. The longer you interact with someone, the more they’re going to discover about you, and maybe it’ll be the same for you. And at some point, they’re going to see the white glint of a long-faded scar, or hear the rattle of pill bottles in your purse… And they may not ask you immediately, but they’re going to wonder. And a time is going to come when it gets hard, real hard, for you to keep telling them it’s just candy they hear or you got scratched by a cat in the 2nd grade. There’s only so many lies you can tell before you get tired.
Oh one sec, I got a message!
“I am so hornry right now”
Shit Tinder, you’re deep.
So maybe if I can’t tell Mike the horndog that I take antidepressants and adderal, I don’t really have to hide it. I’ll wear short sleeves and I’ll use my pill bottles like the maracas they were meant to be, and when someone asks me what it’s all about, I’ll tell them that’s me. That’s who I am, who I was, and maybe who I’ll always be.
The truth is, I don’t really know who I am, not completely. I’m only 21, I still do not understand taxes and lose more socks to the washing machine than I care to admit, and it’s not the pills or the cloud of sadness that sometimes hangs over me like that one shitty Mario Kart item that zaps you small. I am not who I was four years ago, I am…
Alright, how’s this Tinder?
An internet-loving shut-in just trying to find–OH GOD IS THAT A DICK?