It’s easy to spend your life worrying about the momentary interactions that may define other’s opinions of you, and in the end won’t matter. It’s much harder to live your life focusing on making a difference for the betterment of others, one that could transcend many lifetimes. What will you spend your life on?
I read other’s emotions the way some people read signs on a highway, I can’t always understand them, but I see them (and feel them) nonetheless. So what does this have to do with being awkward? I care entirely too much what others think of me. But while this makes some people superficial, it just makes me super-awkward. I haven’t stopped being me at any point in my life, if anything my blunt responses to the negative emotions of other’s have only made me more unique.
I used to switch schools alot when I was younger, and no matter where I went, I always struggled to connect with my classmates. In eighth grade, I made my first friends at a new school by making my awkwardness work for me. The kids in public school found my neon pink shoes appalling, so I made friends by asking them for whiteout. How? I told them it was the only thing that could cover up my obnoxiously bright shoes.
I have and, likely always will, value my connections with others, above my own pride. Sometimes this is a good thing, other times not so much. But over the years I have learned to use natural awkwardness to my benefit. I know I’m different. I know my fashions are rarely in trend, and my smile is a bit too big, but I keep smiling and styling to my heart’s delight anyway.
When you’ve lived one sort of life for so long, it’s hard to start anew.
I got my wish two years ago, for a better life with less pain and struggle. But instead of making myself better for it, I lost all the strength that I’d been grasping tightly for so many years. I didn’t know what to do with myself any longer. I had been holding on, and for the first time I let go, and I found myself spiraling.
It was like nothing bad had ever happened. I felt that if I was lucky enough to escape the cause of my pain, I should just be grateful and happy. But it had happened, and I wasn’t the same now that I was on the other side of it.
I am speaking in vague terms, so as not to upset those that caused my pain, as all I ever wanted was for them to make it through their own personal struggles. However, as they overcome their addictions, I developed one of my own. An addiction to sadness.