Too much crying, she thought. Too many kinds.
– Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell
Blogging hasn’t been feeling wonderful for me lately. You could probably sense the emptiness. It’s difficult to write when you’re still trying to figure out your own story.
Okay, so here’s me: I’m an observer. I like to watch people. 9 times out of 10 I won’t say anything to or about them at all, but I notice things.
I’m also an introvert, I think. When I notice, I notice how much more everyone is and wish to be like them. For me, it isn’t the falling that hurts the most (because there are plenty of hands to help you back up) but instead the feeling of not quite making the mark. The feeling of not being confident enough, smart enough, pretty enough: just the feeling of not being enough. I’ve got an entire draft listing the reasons I feel inadequate somewhere.
I suppose I’m always going to feel a bit jealous of those effortlessly charming people. I enjoy being around people but it takes a lot for me to be comfortable and to stop worrying about the things that come out of my mouth. It extends to the keyboard, as well; though I’m far more comfortable in writing, I can still agonise over sending emails and comments sometimes. That’s why it can sometimes be such a relief to be anonymous, to become someone new. I know that it can be problematic but sometimes it’s a relief to be able to compliment someone without it feeling like an open wound.
I guess I’ve just got to learn that being quiet isn’t a crime. In books the characters usually have their soulmate or their best buddy who will totally get them, and…to be honest, I’ve found that doesn’t really happen. I don’t see anyone thinking I’m, like, a leader. Cool. Look at me – I can make small talk, maybe, but people start asking what do I want to do when I’m older and what music do I like and am I dating anyone and I’ll clam up. I love my friends to pieces and I’d do anything for them, but there are always going to be moments when we’re not quite aligned.
Yeah. I’ve got other things bothering me, but I think that this is the most important. This is the reason that I’m not spilling out my entire heart to you and sobbing on your shoulder. I love you all to pieces as well, but I think there are some problems that aren’t solved by talking about it.
(Maybe it would. I don’t know. But I don’t think that I’m brave enough to.)