At the end of the day, we are each our own harshest critic. I can’t tell you how many hours I spend going over my interactions with people, and flinching at the things that I had said in the moment I that thought were hilarious (most of them were not by the way). It’s kinda of a daily thing that I do. I brush my teeth, change into my pajamas, say my prayers and then analyze my day until I fall asleep.
To be completely honest, I sometimes feel that I am starving for affection. If I’m not in the middle of something, or being invited to the conversation I might as well be light-years away. So in some misplaced sense of preservation I blurt out things just too feel like I occupy relevant space that I later think about and then say to myself, “Wow, did you really have to say that? Now everyone is going to think that you’re more a weirdo than you already are.”
When people describe me as quirky, all I hear is freak. When they say that I’m clumsy, all I think is that I’m a screw-up. All I want to do is stay in my room and avoid human interaction, but at the same time I want to be loved and accepted. Thus I am trapped in a paradox. If I leave my room, I make a fool of myself. But, if I stay in my room, then I am forgotten about.
I realize that I struggle with self-forgiveness. Earlier, I thought that I was being funny when I was interacting with some of my friends and it didn’t come across the way I intended. I apologized immediately, and was forgiven. We laughed, cracked some jokes, and it was over as quickly as it started. However, when I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they would think of me as a bad person, as if that moment in time defined my relationship with them for now on.
So now, here I am, in bed wishing that I could go back in time and erase that whole interaction. I know that they aren’t mad at me, I’m just mad at myself. I’m mad at myself for the way that I went about the conversation, for the way that it ended, for the way that I can’t seem to go a day without doing something embarrassing.
Once again, I’m at a paradox. I can forgive others, no problem. But when it comes to myself, I struggle. Part of it is that I expect perfection in all that I do, in my studies, in my extracurricular, and in my life. And whenever I fall short, I become disappointed in myself. And so the wheels on the struggle bus continue to turn.