I never thought it would happen to me. No way. I might not be very in control of my emotions (yes I have cried at work... more than once). But I could at least control myself when it came to texting boys - new, developing or recently dissolved, as in this particular situation.

Disclaimer: Irrational texting of a significant other after dating for an extended period of time is completely acceptable. If there happen to be any former boyfriends reading and recounting.

All those years of coaching my girlfirends, explaining the very obvious but painful, "if he only texts once every other week late at night... I don't think its a serious thing." Well they might as well all come back and give me one giant slap in the face. After years of preaching I didn't learn a damn thing.

There I was, 1:10AM, an incredibly inopportune time when the receiving end of your pyscho girl texts is in the middle of his work day. These kind of text messages are one thing when you are in the same time zone but craziness increases exponentially when you cross the pond and give yourself an extra 9 hours and a bottle and a half of red wine.

Disclaimer #2: Let's also put this situation into perspective before I continue. I may have temporarily lost my mind, but I have been in the texting trenches with friends before and this was a minor battle. I once knew a girl who sent 34 text messages in a row to a guy she hooked up with one time. ONE TIME. Those wounds take a long time to heal.

As I recall (which I can do perfectly because my phone automatically captures a transcript of my stupidity - fucking technology), the first text was a harmless one. A simple "hi." The response a very reasonable one. And then the devil inside me got ahold of my fingertips and took me to texting hell. One photo to prove a point. And then another because I looked better than the first. And then a third for no good reason. Followed by a few more one line zingers to really hammer in the message, and each nail of my coffin so I could be lowered into my self dug grave.

Total text messages sent - 12. Time spent on deciding what to text - roughly 47 minutes. Cost - too much. Responses received - 2. None of which satisfied my expectation.

Typically I was a more cunning linguist than my opponent but in that moment I had made language my weakness. Finger vomiting had me typing, erasing, and retyping comments ranging from love sick begging to hateful comments rooted in pain and frustration.

I didn't know who I was. Where I was. And am completely convinced I was having an outer body experience. How did I reach that point? Who was to blame? Because it wasn't me. I would not take responsibility for that insane behavior.

If anything I plead temporary insanity. And am still waiting on that correct response.


Chelsie Fish

Slightly exaggerated stories of love, life and travel.