I made a mess that night. A real one. And I need to own it completely instead of hiding behind reasons.
The Truth
Everything hit at once. I bombed my exam. My monitor died. I missed my dad. I was already broken. And instead of sitting with that pain, I reached for her. When she didn't respond, I panicked.
But here's the thing I need to say clearly: that panic was mine to handle. Not hers.
Why I Blocked Her
I was scared of losing her. So I made it happen myself. I thought if I pushed her away first, at least I'd have control over the hurt. I wouldn't be the person waiting for her to leave me. I'd be the one who left.
That's so backwards, but that's what I did.
It felt like power in the moment. It was actually just fear dressed up as action.
The Messages
Then I created chaos. I texted her from my mom's phone because I had already burned down the only door. And I flooded her with apologies and explanations at 2 AM like that would fix anything.
I was the noise. All that noise was coming from me.
I wasn't trying to understand her. I was trying to make my guilt go away, and I was making her problem worse while doing it.
What I Keep Doing
I spiral from running away to desperately trying to fix everything at once. I make it about what I need instead of what's actually happening. I hurt someone and then I make it her job to comfort me while I'm drowning her in text messages.
That's selfish. That's me being unsafe to be around.
And the worst part is I'll probably do it again unless I actually change something, not just understand something.
What I Have to Do
I need to learn how to sit with bad feelings without acting on them. Right now I can't do that. When something hurts too much, I just do something extreme to make it stop. That doesn't work and it hurts other people.
I need to get good at waiting. At not texting back immediately. At being comfortable with not knowing what someone thinks of me. At letting an uncomfortable moment just be uncomfortable instead of trying to blow it up or fix it.
She tried to tell me this: "Give yourself some time. Don't make sudden decisions."
She was right. I wasn't ready to hear it then because I was too busy creating noise.
What Was Actually Happening (The Psychology of It)
I need to understand the mechanics of what I did, even though I'm the one who did it. Not to excuse it, but so I can see it coming next time.
That night, everything fell at once. My exam score. My monitor. Missing my dad. My nervous system was already flooded. When she didn't respond, my brain went into a pattern I recognize now: I read silence as rejection because that's what I've learned to expect. I responded with what attachment theorists call "protest behavior," which is exactly what it sounds like. I blocked her to force a reaction, any reaction, because invisibility felt worse than conflict.
Then guilt consumed me, and I did the opposite thing. I flooded her with messages at 2 AM, desperately trying to repair what I broke, using her as the person to fix my emotions instead of sitting with the discomfort myself.
This is a pattern. I panic when I feel abandoned, I push people away, then I desperately try to pull them back. And I repeat this because I don't know how to tolerate the uncertainty in between.
It's not an excuse. It's the mechanism. And I need to see it clearly so I can interrupt it next time instead of just playing it out again.
Going Forward
I can't use psychology as an excuse for what I did. I was scared and I chose to block her. I felt guilty and I chose to flood her with messages. Those were decisions. Bad ones.
But understanding that I have this pattern, that my nervous system gets flooded easily, that silence triggers old fears in me, that I don't know how to sit with discomfort without acting on it, that I swing between running away and desperate repair-seeking, understanding all of that gives me something to actually work with.
The only thing that matters now is learning how to make different decisions next time. Not understanding why I made these ones, but actually being different.
That's what I owe her. That's what I owe myself.
Written to own it.