Overthinking

So many things wrong with me… So many things.

Why can’t I find the balls to talk to people any more and whenever I do I regret everything I say? I wish I didn’t feel this way at all but I can’t help it. I feel awkward and uncomfortable and out of place, constantly. I’m always worried about my image. How do I smell? Do I have bad breath? Am I sweating? Do I have a weird natural scent? Did I overdo it on the deodorant?

How do I look? Is my hair frizzing up? Have my glasses sunk too far down my nose again making me look like some old lady? Are my lips chapped? Has my makeup smudged? Am I breaking out? How bad does my paleness look? Are my clothes all wonky? Do my legs look awkward? Are my cuts showing? Does my hair need washing? Do I have any pen on my face? Is there something in my teeth?

How do I sound? Is my voice annoying? Am I off-tune if I hum under my breath? Is my laugh weird sounding? Do I talk too loud? Am I high-pitched? Do I speak like a baby? Do I come across as rude when I talk? Are my jokes not funny? Do people judge what I say?

How do I come across? Do people think I am awkward and shy and nerdy? Or grumpy and emo and anti-social? Or try-hard and desperate and embarrassing? Or ugly and sad and pathetic? Or weird and undateable and gross? Do people think I am rude? Do people think I’m sad? Do people think my jokes aren’t funny? Do people think I’m a bitch? Do people think I’m easy to walk all over?

I worry I’ll never succeed in life. That I’ll get average grades after re-taking my exams in college, then have an average college life with little friends that I don’t share memories with because they’re not that interested in me and all have their own best friends, then grow to have a mediocre, low-paying job somewhere to then have an unhappy marriage with an old friend because we’re both pushing forty and still not committed to anyone so we feel obliged to in order to be socially acceptable. I worry I’ll never have true friends; never anyone to really care how I feel and what my interests are and if I’m okay and really want to know and spend time with me. I worry I’ll grow old and never have funny, crazy, youthful memories from my teenage years. I’m worried I’m wasting my youth worrying about worrying. I’m worried I’ll always be scared and cautious and insecure, never truly coming out of my shell. Never truly feeling safe. Never really being happy.

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