Regret. Unfortunately a word that I think about quite often. Self-loathing. Something I do, even though it’s probably being unfair to myself.
In all honesty, I’ve never been too bothered until I got a job. I still self-loathed a little, but it wasn’t a big deal. I could carry on.
I spent most of my time with very few people, the same people I could feel comfortable around. Then came time for working.
The moment I started to be around “normal people”, the cogs started to turn. I’m not like everybody else. I knew that already, but this was more. I was really different.
I’m awkward and weird. I dress unconventionally. I listen to music others don’t. I say things in the wrong place.
The latter is a main one for me. I can’t quite get the grasp of conversational law. I speak at the wrong times, I interject at the wrong times, I say the wrong things and make myself look like a tit.
That’s where regret truly comes in. I regret saying or doing things, but guess what? They’re already done.
Sometimes I laugh too loud, or react too over the top, but I can’t help that. That is how I am, yet I wish I wasn’t. Is that bad?
There are plenty of other examples for regret. I won’t go into them all. There’s one that bothered me whilst writing though. My blog.
Sometimes I regret starting this thing. I’ve gone too obscure with some stuff. I wrote about my life, that was okay. Then I started doing interviews, that was also okay. Then came the other stuff. Let’s be honest, do you even read my reviews? Probably not…
What about the name and logo? I don’t like them. I think it’s naff, cheesy, but I’m in too deep. I made designs, business cards, t-shirts and a pen. I’ve put money into this.
The face. Why did I have to use the face? The people at work are right, it’s creepy, cringy and a waste of time.
I’m seriously considering a rebrand and removing certain posts, because I’ve had enough. I don’t like this anymore.
Here I start to notice the self-loathing coming back into things. I smell weird, my hair is crap, I dress weird. I have a large forehead, that has been the center of far too many jokes.
I collect toys and other things. I don’t want them anymore. I did it because I thought they were cool, but they’re not really. They’re expensive and give people a reason to judge me.
The common thing I hear is, “you’re just quirky” or “that’s just you, nothing wrong with being you” – what if I’m sick of being me? I don’t want to be quirky anymore.
I’ve spent like 90% of my time the past year and a half nearly, around “normal” people and it’s only increased my desire to fit in. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t enjoy being “myself” anymore.
I’m not good looking, I’m annoying and I’m weird. I genuinely wake up most days wishing I was different.
I’ll stop going on now, as this may have gone on a bit too long.
Thanks for reading guys.
Post by Michael Sallabank