One of my friends got me a whole lot of post it notes for my birthday. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t have much need for them, and I already have a ton of lovely heart shaped ones to keep me amused. Nevertheless I am determined to find a good use for them, so here’s a post it note sized letter..
The fun part is that once you’re done reading it, you can stick it up in places. Not that you’d want to. It’s pretty uneventful so far.
Today has been a quiet at home day. It occurred to me last that that there are a number of things (call them bad habits if you like) that have somewhat taken a hold of my life and I would very much like that not to be the case anymore. Funnily enough it was watching Scott Pilgrim VS the World that drew my attentions to these issues. I love movies that do that unexpectedly and without pretension.
I digress. The reason that today has been a quiet at home day stands like this: it is cold and on and off sprinkling out, my mum has my car, and I’ve been in a thoughtful, pensive mood all day.
Once upon a time, I would have been dead set against the idea of me being an introvert. I know, it’s preposterous, but I was always so sure that I wanted to get into social work and spend my life helping people, and being introverted did not fit into the picture. However, it has gotten to the point where this fact is simply undeniable, and so, I have come to accept it and, in some ways, embrace it. However, I feel that i my acceptance of the fact, I have become slightly complacent with the things that I had always disliked about introversion. I mean, the fact of that matter is that I will never be someone who has hundreds of friends and is constantly out at parties and such. I’ve always preferred a small group of close friends to a large one of shallow friends. That’s just who I am, and for the most part, that’s okay. But sometimes I wonder if it is. If I’m somehow missing out on a huge amount of life because of it. I guess sometimes I wish it was easier for me to talk to strangers, or make friends, or just be amazingly bubbly and airheady and forward with everyone. I’m not. There’s no point in trying to be that also, because I hate the idea of being fake. But at the same time, I feel like every now and then I might need to be.
Fake it till you make it, right?
My ex used to get to frustrated with me all the time. He thought the mysteriousness was intentional, an act I put on to get attention, keeping secrets just to be frustrating.
It’s not, and I don’t. The one thing I’ve never been is an attention seeker.
I don’t like keeping secrets. They catch up with you eventually. I tell people about everything in my life. That’s just how it is. I’m not sure where the mystery stems from, but he wasn’t the first, nor the last, to tell me that I’m mysterious. I don’t know where it stems from.
I’ve always been an open book. Maybe most people just don’t care enough to turn the pages.
Their loss, I reckon.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to become someone else. To act like them so much that you forget who you are. That you, as you thought you were, just ceases to exist. It would be nice, I think, to be someone else for a change.
Maybe then I might understand how everyone else manages to function so well.
I can’t help but think it silly how we all put on airs. How everyone pretends to be normal, competent human beings when, in reality, we all are secretly falling apart, held together by bits of string. OUr seams are a all a little frayed, and we all have nightmares that haunt us.
I think people should be more honest with each other.
Not just in the “I’m not going to lie anymore” sense.
I think we ought to start being real and not just hiding behind perfectly composed exteriors. It would make so much more sense.
Sometimes, I wake up and feel like the fattest person in the world. None of my clothes fit right, my hair is a complete wreck, and my skin looks like the surface of the moon. On days like these I don’t want to go out and be surrounded by skinny people with awesome clothes, perfect skin and hair, all glowing and laughing like they own the world.
But I’ve learnt to grin and bear it. To accept the fact that everyone has bad days, and it doesn’t at all change who I am. I guess I can only hope that I might run into someone having the same issues as me and, seeing me being okay with my less than perfect exterior, maybe they might learn to be a little more okay with theirs.
I think it comes down to a matter of believing in yourself. More so, I think it comes down to trusting yourself. For example, if I’m typing something, I know very well how to touch type. There’s no need for me to look at the keys, as I’ve been doing this so long that my fingers automatically find the right spot. But the minute I start to doubt myself, or sneak glances at the keyboard, then I hit the wrong keys, make ridiculous typo’s, skip letters all together. It’s like the minute I start to doubt myself, my brain freezes up.
Now, what if I was just to believe in myself about everything? All the time? Regardless of whether it was the first time I was doing something, or the thousandth. Wouldn’t it make sense that I’d be better at everything? I mean, obviously there are things I couldn’t do. I’ll never be a tightrope walker, for one, or pilot a submarine. But when it comes down to the things that I know how to do, that I know I’m good at, that I’ve succeeded at in the past, why should I doubt myself anymore? The truth is, if I don’t believe in myself, then no one else will. And if no one believed in themselves then there are so many thousands of things that would never have been invented, created, achieved, dreamt, brought to life.
And how sad would that be?
what if you should decide, that you don't want me there in your life...
