I’m scared. I’m terrified almost all the time. Whatever I do, whatever I am, whatever I have has never been good enough.

I want to be liked by my peers. I want appreciation and validation all the time. I want my parents to like me. The people I meet in general must give me their approval, for I might just snap otherwise. I hang by a string, holding on sanity.

I don’t like my face, or my body, or my height. I could be so much better. A taller, fitter me, would have such a better life in this situation. People might even like me on sight, I wouldn’t have to talk to validate my existence. But none of this is gonna change, and that won’t help change the fact that I just don’t like myself. I never have.

I looked at my phone yesterday. Saw a message group exploding with messages. My high school classmates; they’re all excited and planning a reunion of sorts. I’ve bungee jumped, and haven’t felt my legs go so weak so fast.
What do I have to show? How do I even compare? I’ll walk in, and it’ll be high school all over again. I mean just look at them. One’s moved to another country, one helps rebuild schools and teach kids, another is pursuing his dream of photography. Everyone has jobs, and love, and partners; cool pictures to go with them.

What do I have to show? This job I chose over pursuing my dreams? How much weight I’ve gained? How completely inept I am to handle a steady relationship? What the fuck?

I can’t even look my closest friends in the eye for too long, because it terrifies me they’d see right through me. Right the fuck through the arrogant demeanour, the quips and my stupid grin. They’d see how completely hollow I am.
I can’t remember how many times I’ve ignored how many calls. I’m relieved when a plan or a get together gets cancelled. Because, this overexposure will show them how utterly broken
I am. How I’m not even close to the person I portray. I admit I’m not strong. I’m not OK, I’m not well adjusted.

I’m scared.

Image courtesy:

Edward Munch

Vincent Van Gogh

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