As I mentioned before, in addition to a fondness for an ice cold glass of milk and a penchant for sweets, my dad also gifted me with his charming awkwardness.

Thanks, Dad. Except, I don’t believe it is very charming at all.

Combine that with my extreme sensitivity, I live a somewhat tortured existence.

I consider myself exceedingly awkward in most social situations, and I am also ridiculously sensitive to how people may perceive my awkward actions.

This knowledge causes me to constantly second-guess myself, and thereby prevents me from being as genuine as I want be. But instead of coming off as a boob, I am usually mistaken for a snob.

I’d rather be seen as the bumbling fool than the snooty bitch. The latter impression is harder to shake off when it comes to developing relationships with new people.

I never mean to be caustic or dismissive, but I think that is how it seems most of the time.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been envious of my brother’s relative comfort and ease around people. He always comes off as confident and sure of himself, and I am the exact opposite: insecure and always faltering. I focus on all the negatives, such as the potential differences between me and the other person.

I must learn to simply let go and be myself, the person my friends have earned the privilege to know.

Lately it seems I’ve been getting worse. If I’m not being overtly rude or disparaging, I come off as inattentive.

Meh. Perhaps part of it stems from this most recent bout of insecurity. It’s paralyzing me in ways I have never really encountered.

But eh. What’s another bump in the road, yes? I’ll be back to my cocksure self in no time.

I hope.

(via snip-snap-beep.blogspot.com)