Confessions of an Introvert.

How did I get so awful at socializing? God, I’m so pathetic. I’m going back to my father’s hometown for the first time in years tomorrow, and although I’m pretty stoked, a part of me dreads the moments I’ll have to socialize with the strangers who are my relatives. Every time I think about it, my gut gives a violent twist and dread shoots up my spine and spreads like wildfire all through my insides. It plants itself in my body, consuming me whole, twisting and squeezing my organs as it grows and grows and doesn’t stop growing until it suffocates me and I lie awake at night, unable to breathe.

Guys. I can’t do this. My fear of the judgement that comes with socializing is insane. I’m fat. I’m uncool. I’m not sporty enough. I’m not like my siblings.

I don’t know if I have what it takes to get through this trip, to be honest. Especially when SUKMA is happening right where I’m going and every mention of sporty/fit people, every mention of everything my siblings and cousins are and I’m not sends me into a downward spiral of turmoil and self-deprecation. 

I used to be able to fake smiles and laughs and banter as if I wasn’t on the verge of breaking down. But now, every fake smile I give seems so obviously forced it makes the conversation awkward and I can never think of anything to say to keep conversations flowing. I make it a point to hide from people and avoid socializing until it becomes so painfully obvious to everyone that I’m doing what I’m doing. I already know what everyone will think of me. I’m a freak. A loner. A bitch. An antisocial. 



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