…when you’re an awkward girl…
…when you have to apologize to a Facebook friend because your anxiety turned you into the twisted spawn of a Jack Russell Terrier, a Mexican jumping bean and the Tasmanian Devil. I bombarded the poor man with likes and comments and tags and blah blah blah… geh… I am so embarrassed. I sent him an apology. But I still feel terrible. I just hope I didn’t go over the line… you know… the line? The one that quirky, aspergian people like me cross without even knowing it was underfoot.
I’m afraid that such episodes will cause people to abandon me so I get really anxious and afraid I will do it until I get so anxious I can’t think straight and BOOM! I do it. And then I hate myself. I hate myself right now. I can get so fucking intense and invasive when I like someone. To me, meeting some people is like opening xmas gifts and getting something super awesome that you didn’t ask for and you get all excited and hyper and you babble and laugh and marvel at the thing… but people are not things and people don’t like stupid fucking bouncy hyper yippy dog girls.
My envy, for those who have enough self-confidence to just be themselves and not let the judgement of others deter them, is intense. Or maybe I am fooling myself and all people who are like me: extravagant, loud, obnoxious, flashy, intense, verbose…, maybe all of them feel like me. Always afraid. Afraid that the cost of integrity is loneliness.
And I should be ashamed to only worry about those who walk away instead of rejoicing in all of those who stay. But I’m not there yet. This “growing up” shit is getting old.
So much heartache because of this. Even just writing all this stuff out is painful. I have a lump in my chest. It’s hard to breathe. And all this, as I know I have said before, is mostly based on speculation. Because others have abandoned me in the past, some very aggressively and brutally, I now believe everyone likes me until they get to know me and then they get pissed at me for not being the person they thought I was. I’ve had people get cruel with me because they got angry that I was not the goofy/happy/funny girl that had attracted them to me in the first place. So I assume. I cower in fear and always assume that people will see all that I cannot hide and they will hate me and abandon me and I will suffer.
Thing is, when I “let people in”, I let them all the way in. I have a door in my soul; you’re in or you’re out. There’s no transitory phase. There’s no filter where I can let people stew until they’ve proven to be harmless. If you’re in, you’re in a position to hurt me because I am absolutely useless at protecting myself. I am a raw nerve, an open wound, a broken thing, a wounded animal, a tiny girl that wants desperately to be loved… but not at all cost. I have enough integrity to continue to be myself. But I suffer. I suffer for those I lose and can’t always find solace in those who are fiercely loyal. I feel a lot of shame about that. I feel that it means I am shallow; I fear it means I want quantity over quality. And there is that fucking word again: fear. Fuck fear. I am tired of being afraid. Afraid all the time. Afraid of everything. Afraid. And awkward.
And these are all the words I have right now.