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Scared Stiff: Insecurities

May 19th, 2009

I’m ridiculously insecure. There. I said it.

Yeah, yeah. You already knew. I’m always babbling about my self esteem issues and yada, yada, yada. But today, I’m going to talk about all the ways it affects me.

1) I won’t beg. Not ever. Not in the conventional sense of the word. I think I suck at it and look stupid and sound stupid. But most of all, I’m terrified that after all that… after putting myself out there and acting all humble and begging for what I want, I’ll be told no. And to me, that sounds like rejection. It sounds like “You’re not good enough.” And it’s more than I can handle most of the time.

2) I have trouble making friends. I manage to convince myself that none of them are really my friends and they talk to me for some unknown reason that I can’t fathom. Some ulterior motive. Like maybe they think if they don’t talk to me all our mutual friends won’t talk to them. Or something.

This leads to ridiculous paranoia. I worry about what people are saying or doing behind my back, what they really think about me, what they’re saying I said, what they’re saying I did… Most of all what they’re using me for.

In my head, I know that most of it is just the paranoia and irrationality that I deal with in most facets of my life. But it’s like I’m standing in the forest and I’m lost. I can see the light of safety in the distance but every time I take a step toward it, it moves.

3) I don’t always tell the truth about what I think when I’m face to face with someone. Sitting behind an anonymous screen name online (M won’t let me show my face so only a select few could possibly recognize me if we ran into each other on the street.), I can be brutally honest. I can be me. I can tell you what I think and not care if it pisses you off. I can say what I’m thinking and admit how I’m feeling and stand on my soapbox with the best of them.

But stand me in front of someone in real life and I’m bending my personality to suit them. Lying about my opinion to spare their feelings. Hiding how I feel so as not to hurt them. Even if they step on me nonstop and especially if they’re someone I really want to be friends with. The only exception is if I know they know who I am before I meet them face to face.

4) I believe everyone is lying to me. When they’re complimenting me, that is. Patronizing me. Sugarcoating things to make me feel better.

5) I have trouble reading other people’s blogs. Especially people who seem to always be happy. Whether I think they really are always happy or not. It makes me sad because I’ll probably never be nonstop happy.

And it has nothing to do with Master or our relationship or our life or anything like that. All those things are incredibly amazing. If His job straightens up like we think it’s going to and our finances even out like we think they’re going to things will be perfect.

It’s me. I’m a “Grass is always greener” type of gal. The type that wants everything everyone else has. Thinks she should have everything everyone else has. Not because she’s entitled, but because it’s what’s expected. I war with my social programming all the time and I’m really not ashamed to admit it.

I’m not sure why I’m able to read Kaya’s and Carrie’s and DK’s and Cinnamon’s and Amber’s. But probably because they’re each, in their own way, so similar to me it’s creepy and are not afraid to talk about the bad. Not afraid to admit that life’s not all bubbles and sunshine.

Bubbles and fucking sunshine.

I’m sure other people are, too. Willing to talk about the bad. But they’re, so far, the only ones I’ve been able to get up the courage to delve deeper than the first page.

6) It takes me twenty minutes to put my hair in a ponytail. I’m not kidding. I will brush it until my arm won’t move anymore if there’s even one bump or misplaced strand. And then I slather on half a tube of gel. After I already worked a shitload of gel into my hair before I even started the ponytail. Because I hate the bazillion flyaways I have that make me look like a Q-Tip when my hair dries. And I always do my hair wet. I can do that, you see, because I don’t own any sort of iron.

And because I talked about my hair, I’m now sitting here running my hands over it and trying to decide whether I want to redo the ponytail for the five hundredth time in the past hour.

7) I am ridiculously indecisive. Not because I don’t know what I want. But because I don’t know the correct choice. We could be at the back of the line in Burger King and the line could be out the door and when we get to the cashier, I still have to ask M to order first cause I still haven’t figured out the right answer to the question, “What’ll you have today?”

8) I don’t write anywhere near as often as I should. I’m a damn good writer. I know that. But I can’t convince myself of that when I’m writing something. It always sounds childish or stupid or whiny.

So I never finish anything. Which is why only my poetry has ever been published.

9) I buy and wear clothes that are a) too big for me, b) solid, dull colors (usually black), c) couldn’t possibly be seen as weird, experimental, outlandish, d) won’t draw attention at all, ever, e) usually jeans, sweatpants, running pants, sweaters, sweatshirts, hoodies and t-shirts.

10) At least once a month – but more often once a week and occasionally once a day – I have a mini breakdown. Everything I obsess over but have managed to push to the back of my mind comes back to haunt me and I can’t make it stop to save my life. From my appearance to my personality to my education. I launch the largest personal attack in the history of man… on myself.

11) If I could, I’d wear long sleeves and pants year round.

12) Any time I’m required to be naked, unless I’ve been given explicit instructions not to, I wrap up in a blanket. Even if it’s 90 degrees in the house.

13) I rarely wear sunglasses or hats. I’m not sure why, but I think they look stupid on me.

14) Any time Master’s late without calling, I go through the possibilities over and over. The ones I touch on most are that He’s finally had enough of me and decided not to come home or that He’s found another woman and for some reason decided not to just be honest with me about it. Generally speaking, that He could have been stuck at work or gotten into an accident or something doesn’t cross my mind until He’s more than a couple hours late.

15) I don’t dance or exercise in front of anyone. Master included. Except in the rare moments I can’t keep my hips from moving. And then, if I notice He’s paying attention I stop. Which is bizarre. I used to love dancing so much I didn’t care who was watching.

16) I don’t go places by myself unless He makes me. And even then, I whine a lot.

17) I’m afraid to knock on doors or ring doorbells. Any doors. But the doors of my friends scare me the most.

18) I reread anything I write (except my private journal) five hundred bazillion times before I post it or show it to anyone. And then, once I post it, I reread it five hundred bazillion more times, even if I can’t edit it, to see how stupid I sound. You’d think I’d never have a typo, ever. But my brain works like a spell checker. I look to make sure the words are spelled correctly and forget to check to be sure they’re grammatically correct.

19) I never once asked for a raise at any of my jobs. I didn’t think I deserved them even though I almost always stayed late, finished every project early or on time and rarely ever called out. Any raises or promotions I’ve ever gotten were given to me out of pity or because someone stood up and said I deserved them.

20) I don’t invite people to my house or to meet somewhere or to hang out at all. When I finally do, I have to be absolutely certain that they will accept and think there’s at least a slight chance they will show up.

That’s all I can think of right now.

Oh. And:

21) I get half way through really good blog entries that I should totally post, trash them and put up something stupid. Usually a meme. I remembered this one because I just almost scrapped this entry.

The reason? It varies. Sometimes it’s because I think it sounds horrible. Sometimes it’s because the feeling goes away. Sometimes it’s because I’m terrified of putting myself out there to the whole world (or the 200 or so people who semi-regularly read us, anyway) and getting bupkiss back but I had to get over that fear pretty quickly! :oP

I’m sure there are shit loads more things it affects. But I’ve been typing away at this damn thing since about 11am and I’m done.

Why am I telling you what my insecurities affect? Because I want to overcome them.

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