Crying teenagers. Deafening screams. Security guards everywhere. And this was one of the few ways to describe one of the best nights of my life.

Yes, that’s right. Despite the judgmental and questioning looks I tend to receive, I am proud to label myself as a true “Directioner.”

For those who has been living under a rock, Directioners are what the fans of popular British/Irish boy band, One Direction, like to call themselves.

On July 22, in Dallas, I experienced what every Directioner dreams of. Not only did my friend get me concert tickets (second row, be jealous), but also soundcheck and meet-and-greet passes.

The three hour wait was worth my 30 seconds with the five beautiful boys of my dreams. Shaking, I walked up to the band, trying to hold back the tears of joy. All of my expectations of how I was going to act flew out the window. Babble replaced the cute and clever words I had rehearsed. Looking back at the row of girls waiting to get their picture taken, I couldn’t help but think that I was the band’s obvious favorite.

With 60 fellow Directioners, I was led into the arena for soundcheck. The band played two songs and answered about 10 questions from some of the fans. Although I had every intention of raising my hand to ask a question, I was again too overwhelmed to speak.

Our seats were amazing. Not only could I see them perfectly, they could see me, which dramatically increased my chances of them falling in love with me and calling me backstage to finish the tour with them after the concert.

I was in fangirl heaven. Although I walked out of the arena partially deaf and had run out of storage space on my phone to trying to record the entire concert, I just had the night of my dreams.

The concert was followed by a lot of sleep, multiple viewings of the videos I had taken, and a slightly unexpected depression that the night had actually come and gone.

Someday when we’re all old and gray, the family of my dear Directioners from near and far, will be able to look back on our old obsession. Although someday they will, our love for the British beauties will never die. We’re all insane, overly dedicated, and probably spend way too much time on five boys that we will never be noticed by. And although it’s probably unhealthy, we accept it. We like to believe that is what makes us beautiful.