I’m really terrible at making friends.
June 14, 2011 § 2 Comments
For whatever reason, making friends is still about as awkward to me is the first boy/girl pool party I went to, where my top flipped upwards after jumping off the diving board and resulted in the entire fifth grade class getting a good look at my underdeveloped rack. Also later, I threw up Cheetos.
I have really terrible social anxiety, probably because I’m a dweeb, or maybe it’s because of that bully Amanda making fun of me for the entirety of elementary school because I was fat and couldn’t jump rope, I don’t know, I have a trunk filled with baggage, clearly. Every time I see someone cute/mildly interesting it will usually result in me mildly stalking (every single one of) their social networking sites, awkwardly peeking at them at parties until they look back at me and then pretend I wasn’t looking, and then sit in my room and be sad about how we’re not best friends forever. If I’m lucky, they will magically feel my I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND energy, and they’ll make some attempt to talk to me somewhere and I will basically stutter, “uh hi. um. do you like shoes? i like yours. i don’t know. i gotta go.” Typically when people react to me with any sort of compliment or spark of interest, I am too flabbergasted that they are actually talking to me, that I pretty much BLOW IT EVERY SINGLE TIME. I’m essentially admitting, right here, on the internet, that I’m a CREEP. AN AWKWARD CREEP.
I remember when I found out about the documentary “A Complete History of My Sexual Failures,” where this guy spends two hours trying to interview all of his exes and they either avoid him like the plague or tell him he’s an awkward sorry shlub and that they will hate him forever. Finally, a movie exactly about my life and why I was always the awkward JERK. VICTORY!!! ENLIGHTENMENT! But I guess it turned out that it wasn’t a documentary at all, merely a big massive joke that I was probably the punchline of in some form. That was probably one of the more disappointing moments in my life, second probably to the time I went to TCBY’s and the owner told me that he stopped making banana splits because it was a WASTE OF MONEY. Who killed your puppy, dude?
Anyway, the very rare moments where I choose to try and reach out to people like an actual human being mainly comprise of twelve seconds of bravery *Insert witty and charming quip that I spent at least fifteen minutes who am I kidding closer to an hour trying to word perfectly + admittance that I want to hang out/talk* (probably through the internet and not in person, because I am a champ) and days of agonizing and paralyzing fear. WHAT IF THEY THINK I’M DUMB. WHAT IF THEY THINK I’M HITTING ON THEM. WHAT IF I AM HITTING ON THEM. THEY ARE PROBABLY LAUGHING AT ME AND SHAKING THEIR HEADS IN PITY. WHY AM I SHOUTING. I just can’t take this kind of distress for the rest of my life.
There has got to be some kind of support group or something. (There is Brianna, it’s called SUCKING IT THE FUCK UP.) I guess there is the inevitable possibility of just obtaining a large amount of cats, but I’m allergic to them and they never love me enough. Maybe some chameleons, they seem pretty down to earth. YEAH ALRIGHT, it’ll be okay, just me and my chameleons playing hide & seek and watching Degrassi marathons.