I’ve come to grips.
I’m not the hot one.
I’m not the skinny one.
I’m not the cool one.
I’m the one who looks like a caterpillar.
The one who has a flat butt.
The weird one.
The one who talks to much.
But then the realization comes that it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t freaking matter.
I kind of like my face. And I’m really proud of the way I can make my neck disappear just by making my double chin stick out.
I like my weirdness.
I don’t want to be one of those reallyeffingannoying “weird power” people who like, go out of their way to make sure that they are completely and totally, one hundred percent, different than culture. No.
Rather, I want to embrace my weirdness. I’ve accepted it. I have multiple quirks.
I’m high strung, and panic easily and often. I am an admitted people pleaser. I’m kind of completely bizarre. Screw it, I’m crazy.
I don’t care.
I’ve been a mess lately. My life has become so busy and chaotic that I can feel myself turning into a clone. I have no time, no energy, no care to put any time into my appearance, my stress, my anything. And then along comes the idea that I’m not good enough. That my face is too big. That I’m too weird. That I’m too whatfreakingever wrong for whatever stereotype someone is trying to shove me into.
And then it snapped. Or clicked. Whatever.
The more time I
waste on trying to make every other person happy, the less time I am happy.
It could probably be formulated into an equation. Like the ratio of my time spent trying to please people over my time spent enjoying myself differentiates by a value of x. Or Something. I hate math. So not going to try to make that previous statement make any sense.
I spent a while the past few months agonizing on why I’m nearly a senior and have yet to have one solid relationship, nay, one person interested in me who wasn’t the slime of the earth (a little harsh/extreme/whatever), and started freaking myself out. The following is an actual list of flaws that I’ve come up with as to why I am utterly and completely single:
1. Chipmunk cheeks
2. Denture-esque teeth
3. Wrong height
4. Stomach not flat
5. Brown eyes
b. Over analysis of everything (case in point)
9. Inability to sit still for more than twenty minutes
10. I am Mira Cleveland
Looking back on that list, I realize how critical I am of myself. This is why I am stressed out.
I am my own worst critic.
I am the one who has put me in these boxes.
After overanalyzing this for several hours, I’ve decided to screw it.
I’m just going to be myself, moderating the intensity of my personality when needed, and just see what happens. If I can just give up my often incorrect assumptions about what others think about me and just… stay in my own head for once, I feel as though my stress level and obsessiveness about others’ perceptions will begin decreasing.
so, screw this. I’m going to be Mira, whether the world is ready for it or not.