Stress to Impress

Humans are social creatures by nature. We have an innate need to be liked by our peers because, in the days of caves and fire, we would be kicked out and left to fend for ourselves in the frozen wastelands if we didn't fit in. The wastelands are now warmer than they should be, there are now digital hellscapes to worry about, and caves and fires have become houses and radiators. Regardless, that insatiable need to be loved, liked or even just accepted, still burns bright within us all. Even those who claim to be proud societal outsiders inevitably find community and camaraderie with other outsiders.

Whether it is my autism, or I was just destined to be an awkward person, I've always found difficulty in creating and maintaining friendships. From my childhood 'best friend' who actually used to beat me up around the back of our nursery (thank you mum for dredging up that repressed memory), to people I was romantically interested in, or even friends made and lost more recently, there has been a recurring theme of me consistently picking the wrong people to be around, then stressing myself out trying to maintain those relationships that were so obviously not right for me. I have a history of being so caught up in the few close friendships that I had, and were bad for me, that I ignored possible friendships from others that were actually nice to me, such as the girl I had music, drama and art lessons with. We used to laugh endlessly about anything and everything, but once that bell rang at the end of the lesson, we wouldn't interact. I had countless acquaintances like these that could have, and probably should have, become deeper and more meaningful relationships, but didn't because I neglected to realise that the people I was 'friends' with weren't actually nice to me.

My brain seems to desperately cling to those who secretly laugh at me, or even do so to my face. I won't be fully conscious of them doing it at the time but, looking back, I can pinpoint countless times that they made me feel bad about myself. So why would I stick around? Why would I play up to my own insecurities to make myself feel better? I guess my logic was that it wouldn't hurt so much if I pointed out my insecurities first, because then they were just going along with the joke. By making fun of myself, I had given them permission to make fun of me too and I therefore couldn't be upset about it. I would change my personality to be more like theirs, make them smile, make them laugh, make them feel good about themselves, make them like me. Obviously, this is not the case with every friendship I've had, but there has definitely been a pattern throughout my life.

I'm a try-hard. I'm so desperate to be liked and accepted by people that my enthusiasm tends to have the opposite effect. In my teen years I would post on social media relentlessly, trying so hard to prove how cool I was that I'm pretty sure it just made people think I was an absolute weirdo. Now, I try to be funny and end up making the most awkward 'jokes' and ruining the mood. I lay awake wondering how to re-invent aspects of my personality to make them more palatable. I nit-pick every aspect of my body, face, personality, style, likes and passions that I don't even know myself anymore.

I've spent so much time worried about how people perceive me that I've managed to forget core parts of who I am as a person.

I also somehow manage to both over and under-estimate how much people actually care about me. I don't mean that in terms of "nobody likes me, all my friends are fake and I'm going to die alone", I mean in the way of just people in general. I have this fear that people I haven't interacted with in years still think or talk about me, when the reality is that they probably could not give less of a sh*t. In the same breath, friends that I've somehow concluded don't care about me at all, have actually proven that they very much do care, in the best ways.

Seemingly, the further away you are from me in my social circle, the more I care about your opinion of me. Even with this blog, I was so worried about what people would think about it, and about me, that I've barely posted on it and haven't promoted it at all except on my facebook.

It also doesn't help that I'm a perfectionist when it comes to every aspect of my life, to the point where I won't even start something if I don't think I'm going to do it right. I dread to think about the number of notebooks, diaries and scrapbooks I've bought over the years that just end up being neglected because the pressure to write the perfect novel, make the perfect diary entry, create the perfect work of art, to be perfect was entirely too much. The worst part is that it's a completely internal pressure. I have no idea where it comes from, but it seeps into every choice I make and every interaction I have. I would rather not try at all and let an amazing opportunity pass me by than try, fail and make an absolute idiot of myself.

I don't really know what the point of this post is. Perhaps just to remind myself that it really isn't that deep and the things that make me happy, such as writing, need only do that; make me happy. I don't need to impress people, make people think I'm cool when I'm so obviously not, and I do not need to be perfect. I need to just live how I want to live, and do what I want to do, regardless of if people have an opinion, or if I fail at a few things.

Life is too short to care about how much other people care. As my boyfriend's dad always says "one life, live it".