I wonder sometimes-truly wonder-whether people who people who aren’t afflicted and forced to live under the cloud of anxiety and its associated forces of self destruction understand how dysfunctional it can be to try to manage life with crippling shyness, anxiety and low self esteem.
You are so fortunate. You, the beautiful. The normal. We look in the mirror and don’t see what you do. A monster looks back. Maybe you see us that way too. We think that you do. No matter what we may accomplish, no matter how many lives we may positively impact, we continually see ourselves as never being good enough. For anything. For anyone. For you.
The simplest, most routine conventions of life for most become unbearable for some of us. Saying ‘hi’ to someone. Looking them in the eyes. Talking to a girl. Telling her she’s pretty.
It’s easier in writing, but then, when you do try, all you can think is how offended that person must be that a person of your standing, a person like you, an ugly, worthless person like you, dared approach them, or write to them, or compliment them. And then all you can think about is hiding under a rock.
This social media stuff is horrible. I hate it, really. On the one hand I feel like I can try to make friends without the real life “me” fucking things up, but the reality is, I feel like I’m cheating every time I like someone’s photo that isn’t the girl I really like. Then I can’t even “like” her photos or friend her because of how little I think of myself. Her other followers and friends look so much better than me. Does that even make sense?
But I think to myself, ‘why would she notice me amongst all of these amazing people that follow her?’
I wish it were different.
I wish I were different. Better.