Insecurity

One Conversation I had this week:

“Um, Hey…I’m Fawn, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m so-and-so, it’s nice to meet you too.”

“….”

“…..”

“So, um, what’s your major…?”

“Oh, it’s Business. Your’s?”

“Oh,um, Biology.”

Then the conversation ends, both of us awkwardly looking away from each other. I, personally, feel like an idiot; a socially awkward idiot. I never noticed how I couldn’t talk to people until I came to college, and that makes me nervous. I’m basically an adult now and I can’t even hold a conversation?

What is wrong with me? 

If you talk to my mother, she’d say absolutely nothing. Which I concede that a mother has to say that in a sense, but I wish I knew why I can’t have a decent conversation with somebody.

Maybe because I’m intimidated by these people or because he’s a really attractive guy or she’s a really attractive girl and I feel like that piece of popcorn that gets burned that escapes your notice and when you shove it in your mouth you grimace about how nasty it tastes and how disappointed you didn’t find it earlier to throw away.

I’m incurably, unbearably insecure. That’s what’s wrong with me. I just can’t seem to get over small things that get in my way of talking with people.

What if they think I’m boring?

What if they are staring at my pimples?

Oh my gosh, what if they notice I didn’t shave my legs? I knew I should have worn jeans today not shorts.

Ugh, I’m wearing such an ugly shirt. What if they see my pudgy stomach?

 I try so hard not to allow other peoples thoughts dictate what I think but…. I just can’t help it, it eats me up inside. I can’t stop thinking about other peoples thoughts about me, even if I know they aren’t thinking of me. It’s almost like I’m self-obsessed and conceited, but I know that’s not it. I’m not vain or so into myself that I think I should be in everybody’s thoughts.

And I know everybody worries over their pimples, over somebody not liking their personality, or if people notice they aren’t perfectly skinny. Hell, bigger girls than me wear skimpier clothes than I do but that doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel horrible for thinking ‘You’re skinnier than them why aren’t you wearing that?’. How could I think that?

This is hard, harder than I thought. I thought I could just easily just slip into college life and shove down my past. It didn’t work like that, I sat down in that classroom and everything came rushing back, the cruel whispers in my ear that I thought I destroyed long ago laugh in my ear, taunting me with my flaws and imperfections. I freeze, closing up tightly and forced myself into a little ball.

Will I ever get past this?

Until Next Post,

Chaotic Fawn

P.S. Everybody, I am so so sorry this was supposed to be posted weeks ago.

I’ve been so busy that I couldn’t post anything until now and I thought I had posted this but I guess I didn’t. Seriously, I will start posting every week, I promise.

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