Should've Stayed Home by Celeste Casella

Dishes clatter and people chatter. I sit and wait. When’s it my turn? Everyone is so happy. Why don’t I fit in? Why is my heart racing? I need a moment away but feel myself drifting instead.

Drifting to a time when it was easy, when all you had to do to make friends was say hello. Ask their name. Boom! A best friend bond has been made.

Years go by and this bond is unbreakable. Indestructible. Unchanging. You know each other’s darkest secrets, Instagram passwords, and past crushes.

They help you through your first date and you support them in theirs. Having each other’s back is what you’re known for and when one of you walks into a room, everyone knows the other isn’t far behind.

You stand by your best friend through family struggles and messy middle school breakups. You move through friend groups and eventually your friend duo becomes a trio. There are only slight changes you notice, one day you hang out at one house and the next day another. You still are confident and trusting with your best friends.

Time moves fast in middle school, one day you look around and you’re surrounded by friends. Friends? You barely met this person, you don’t know their pet’s name or if they even have one. Your best friend is eating it up, the attention, the novelty of a shiny new friend group.

Instagram and Snapchat are all the rage. All of your friends join and everyone follows everyone. You all post together, hitting the maximum tagging limit. Scrolling one night you see that everyone was together without you.

This must be some mistake, your phone just isn’t working, maybe the wifi is down? There has to be a reason why they didn’t ask you to come. You soon learn that it wasn’t a

mistake, they just “forgot to invite you.” It’s all right. This was an isolated incident and you’re sure it won't happen again.

It’s all you think about, why do they all have more followers than you? You run in the same circles, talk to the same people.

The explanation is simple, no one likes you. They only tolerate you and are waiting for you to leave them alone.

The next time you get invited over you knock on the door only for someone else to answer the door, not your best friend, it never is anymore. You sit at this hang out and wonder why you left the house at all.

More time passes and your connection weakens even more, you have different intentions, that’s all. You want different things in life. You stop the sporadic facetime calls, the sharing of secrets, the endless laughter. You tell yourself it’s okay, but there’s nothing worse than the pain in your chest from a friend breakup.

A connection formed so easily and what seemed like it would stand the test of time. It felt like fate, set in the stars that you two would meet and be platonic soulmates. It was all broken so easily.

What’s wrong?

When did it stop being easy?

Why won’t this feeling leave?

Worry. Worry. Worry.

This feeling is like a child holding onto their parent’s leg, refusing to go to their first day of school. It’s an itch that can’t be scratched. It’s a horror movie with no monsters.

Deep breaths ground me as the pressure tries to drown me. As I open my eyes I see the world through a glass, distorted and synthetic. Moments pass as I wonder what's real? What matters? Then I'm under water again, fighting the tidal waves of worry and despair.

What's wrong? I say to myself. Nothing is wrong. Everything is okay. But my heart is insisting otherwise. The pounding drum is screaming that something is terribly awry. My life is a series of moments, moments of me shoving down the panic, shoving down the pain. A collection of deep breaths and fake smiles.

I’m worried. Worried about looking the wrong way. Worried about saying the wrong thing. Worried about other people’s intentions.

So I’ll drift away. Into my safe little box. Into youtube. Into twitter. Into a place where everyone is accepting and thinks the same way I do.

Endless information at the click of a button. Is it true? Who knows. It feels safe. And that's what matters. The world in the palm of my hands.

Celeste Casella is an 18 year old English major. When she isn't doing the hours of homework she mistakenly signed up for, she enjoys watching true crime documentaries and television while crocheting the day away. She hopes to go into the world of writing, editing, or publishing after completing school and loves to read a good rom-com or fantasy novel.