When I was younger, I saw the Behind The Music of The Go-Gos. You know, the 80s group that sang "We've Got The Beat"? Well, even though they were really cute, most of the girls in the group were on coke really heavy, and one of them was addicted to heroin. She fell in love, went to rehab, and she said that first weekend that she was home she prayed the whole time. So hard, in fact, that her knuckles turned white. She was pleading with God to help her keep it together so that she wouldn't use. After that weekend she said that she never had a desire to use again. I liken the way she must have felt that weekend to how I felt yesterday trying my HARDEST not to text Faux-Mega.
Texting him would have been a bad idea for a shitload of reasons. One being that I already texted him last week, he should text me so I don't look as desperate as I feel. Second, I don't think he's meant to be in life. Texting him would have been a clear reaction of my hormones. And third, waiting for him to text me would have literally driven me mad!
But that doesn't mean that I didn't want a text from him though. I swear guys, I stared at that phone. I prayed over that phone. I did an Indian rain dance around the phone. I went through my messages and made sure I didn't overlook one.
I found myself pulling a Go-Go and just begging God to dismiss the urge to contact him from my system. I feel that God agreed that the whole sitch was a mess, and that I needed to just throw in the towel. So God, being the peach that He is, occupied my time by allowing me to talk to other friends.
The only difference between me and the Go-Go girl is that when the worst was over, I still kind of wanted to text him. This just proves my unwritten theory that heroin is easier to kick than a crush.
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