I come home, itching, sniffling, and beating away insecurities:
The aftermath of a night out with my friends.
Every time I get home, the more I think that my plan to have a fantastic summer is backfiring and instead of having a fantastic summer, I will just discover – more “fantastically” each time – just how second-rate I am compared to nearly everyone else in my group of friends.
As I age, I am becoming more aware of how others view me, despite their willingness to admit their feelings. However, I am still too young to not care and just settle, as the rest of my family has.
I am different from much of my family, but there are some ways that we sustain similarities. There’s enough similarities and differences present for me to wonder how will I treat my feelings as an adult. Will I learn to view them as irrelevant when they regard other people who are not my significant other or best friend? Will I settle for being the placeholder for better, brighter things? Or will I break the pattern and come to see that my insecurities may be falsities?
Nonetheless, I’ve grown up around some lonely-as-hell people and as I grow, I don’t see my destiny being much different. Regardless of much I try to be social, try to be more involved, try to force myself in the picture, the result remains the same: some part of me is unworthy, some part of me doesn’t click right, some part doesn’t request or demand attachment. I am just a fleshy part of scenery.
After years of locking myself away from social interaction with those I thought I was the closest to, I step into the world to find . . . I should have kept locking myself away. A scarce commodity is always more valued.