People get crushes, it’s a thing that happens when you least expect it. You sit next to that really cute guy in your Astronomy lecture, and he just happens to catch your eye with that Green Day T-shirt; or you meet someone really cool while you’re waiting in line for pizza. Or you’re realizing you’re crushing on a friend of yours.

That’s all happy and sappy, and sometimes it’s great.

For me, having a crush on someone is extremely nerve-wracking for me. It’s the physical equivalent of walking on a tightrope, on eggshells, trying not to spill a giant mug filled to the brim with hot tea.

In the past 18 years of my short life, I’ve had my fair share of crushes. I would go as far as to say that it’s an anxiety trigger.

For me, it’s the perfect storm for my silly little head to jump lovingly into the arms of worst case scenarios.

I once had a crush on this guy; he was cool, mysterious and really cute (at times, too cute for me to even function). But, hell, my head decided to read into everything like it’s a novel. Sure, I had the butterflies like one normally does.

Then there was the panicking over just about everything. From the way I smiled to the way I talked about some of my favorite books. Every text message came with hours upon hours of analysis and hours upon hours of worry.

Upon further analysis, this fellow in question was not the only one; in fact, this was quite a regular pattern. For crush after crush, I would worry like hell about what could possibly go wrong. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and I was waiting for it to not work out.

Especially in Junior High and High School, my brain would perceive these crushes as the end-all be-all of my times at school. When really they weren’t.