In my experience, having someone tell me they have a crush on me is the equivalent of saying that my house is on fire, and they’re the one who started it. This trauma response is the result of my interesting experiences in high school. It was quite comical how socially-awkward teenage boys tried to meander their way into my life.

During my sophomore year, I became friends with a guy who struggled to admit that he liked me. He finally worked up the courage to ask me out — right after I told him my childhood dog died.

I thought my days of awkward interactions with guys would be over, but they just kept coming. The following year, a friend of mine broke the news that he had a crush on me, but when I didn’t reciprocate the feelings, he shrugged it off. He said, “I don’t feel that way anymore. It was just me throwing a message in a bottle out to sea.” Unfortunately, as poetic as that was, I did not find it very endearing.

Finally, during my senior year, people in the props department of our theater production set me up with another guy. He was still dressed in his costume when he asked me out, so I was essentially being asked out by Harry Potter’s stunt double.

I had good reasons for turning these people down, but I truly wish them the best and hope they have very loving partners. The downside of my crazy experiences is that telling people about the romantic interest I’ve received makes me feel like the main character of a rom-com — still going through my crappy love life stage before I meet the right person. I really hope college will be different, and my friends who have heard these stories are praying with me.