I used to hate myself. I think maybe I still do. At least most of the time. For being ‘different’. The weird one or the odd one out. I stick out like a sore thumb for all the wrong if not unfortunate reasons. My labels thus far have been, ‘too quiet’, ‘strange’, ‘weird’, and other wordless body language related expressions.
For a world that’s constantly telling us to ‘be ourselves’ I just can’t seem to find the version of ‘myself’ that’s best suited for it. I tried speaking out more but then I was told to stop trying too hard. So I stayed quiet but then I was told to be more ‘out there’. I’ve told myself, maybe they just don’t get me. I should give it time or maybe I can change this one thing about myself and it’ll be better. Well it’s not getting better. And as I grow older this whole ‘editing-who-I-am’ thing is just wearing me out. I don’t know who ‘myself’ is. Sometimes I wish people had brains that pre explained a person. So we’d all just stop acting like we’re trying to prove something. For goodness sake, its exhausting! I’m exhausted.
I want to not care what people think about me but I need these same people to actually have a life. And it’s hard to go and get life with all this background noise. Wasting time trying to achieve an unclear state of ‘normal’.
So first impressions are important but also be unique because there’s no one else like you. There’s no one else like me. I find that statement funny. . .