Dear Out of State Guys Who Like Me

When this happens on Facebook:

Me: Who wants to go do something with me today to cheer me up?
Dude in Another State 1: Well, if I were there.
Dude in Another State 2: Come over!
Dude in Another State 3: I’d love to, but… you know…

It does not help. It makes me feel worse and not because I don’t get to hang out with your awesome self today.

I’m the one who got a migraine Friday afternoon, causing me to miss day 1 of an event that would have been really helpful for me. I’m the one on a new migraine medicine because it’s the only one on the formulary-- and had the medicine fail. Twice. I’m the one who couldn’t eat dinner because I just would have thrown it up. I’m the one who considered going to the emergency room with a migraine at 2am. I’m the one who woke up on Saturday with a migraine and skipped lunch because I thought I would throw it up. I’m the one who had to miss the second day of the event that I really wanted to go to because I was too sick to leave.

I’m the one who finally felt good enough to try to eat some delivery food and ordered a bunch of Thai food with peanut sauce, then discovered the hard way that the restaurant puts a life-threatening allergen* in their peanut sauce. I’m the one who spent $30 on a meal that I had to throw away—when I’m running low on food money. I’m the one whose tongue swelled up on one side and came close to anaphylactic shock from one fucking drop of sauce. I’m the one who had to take 3 different antihistamines and shoot a steroid inhaler into my mouth in an attempt to keep myself out of the ER. I'm the one who had this happen after over 24 hours without food, with a tendency towards low blood sugar. I’m the one who picked shrimp and tofu pieces out of a spring roll for 20 minutes trying to get something into my system, crying the whole time. I’m the one who found out earlier this week that the pie place puts a different life-threatening allergen into their crusts and has been telling me that there is none of that in the pie that I want, so not only have they been trying to kill me, I can no longer have anything from their restaurant.

I am seriously having a bad food week over here.

I’m the one who didn’t feel well enough to take a shower, even though I needed one. I’m the one who really wanted to go to an event and didn’t have the energy to take transit there, so I had to pay a cab to ensure that I would go. I’m the one who couldn’t eat any of the meat items at the café because they were all migraine triggers. I’m the one who had to take more medicine during a board game with people that I’d just met because my allergy attack came back. I’m the one whose hands were shaking and had to take a second panic pill during the game because the allergy attack was bad enough to cause an adrenaline surge that I'm still oversensitive to. I’m the one who went to the event hoping that a cute guy would show up, went through the expense and the crap—and didn’t have him show up**. I’m the one who walked to the bus stop disappointed at the end of the night with a heavy bag and a mostly empty stomach. I’m the one who almost missed my stop and doesn’t remember walking home from the bus stop. I’m the one who had to recheck what time I took allergy pills after I got home because my tongue was swelling for the third time that day—and discovered that it wasn’t long enough ago to take more.

I'm the one who has been running on a mostly empty stomach for over two days and really needs some food. I'm the one going back to bed instead of eating because I have no desire to eat.

I’m the one who posted to Facebook that I could really use some support from my friends, hoping that specific people who can actually help would reply. And they didn’t. I was the one hoping that someone that can help me feel better would drag me out of my apartment and buy me lunch so I would eat something. And they didn't respond. You did, knowing that you cannot provide the help that I asked for.

I get it. You like me. How fantastic for you. But if I ask who wants to get together today and you live in another state, I am already aware that you can’t. You don’t actually have to tell me that you can’t. It really doesn’t need to be said. At all. Ever. You make me feel like under the strain of all this crap, you expect me to be thinking about you. You make me feel like you are trying to cheer me up by reminding me that you think I’m sexy for the bazillionth time—all of you. You make me feel like you want my attempt to cheer myself up to be all about you and your penis—and I promise, guys, if I were interested in your penis, I would have told you that by now.

I asked my friends for help and you made me feel harassed and unimportant. I know that wasn’t your intention but I honestly don’t give a shit what your intentions are right now. Me asking for support is not about your penis. It’s just not. And I wish you’d leave your penis out of this.

If any cute guys or lunch-buyers who actually live near me want to try to cheer me up, text me because I give up for today.

* No, not peanuts. Curry powder.
**He said that he might show up but wasn't sure, so this is disappointing but not his fault.