oh no.


why are they staring at my face did i not blend my concealer out properly is it too much blush oh fuck i must look like a fucking clown

I’m not kidding when I say I worry all the time. It’s a constant litany of thoughts that has me convinced something must be going be wrong at any one time. It used to be worse when I was younger before mp3 players and earphones, because now I can plug in and pretend not hearing the outside world means I can walk through invisibly.

ok once the bus reaches the traffic light i gotta get outta my seat and squeeze my way out to the doorbell what if i don’t press the doorbell on time oh shit what if I miss my stop

When I was a kid, it was probably due to a crippling combination of shyness, self-consciousness and insecurity. Public speaking and speaking up in class were my worst fears in school. When I was in Primary 3 or 4, I had to go up on stage during assembly to read a Chinese composition. I was quaking. It was like stepping into the fiery pits of hell, and I can still feel those flames of embarrassment, okay.

Even today, speaking in front of big groups of people mortifies me. Look, all it takes is for an entire group of ten people to be listening to what I’m saying and I start to sweat. It even happens when I’m with friends. From experience, five people is my absolute limit.

is my voice shaking am i red it’s so hot in this room shit everyone can probably tell that i’m fucking nervous just look straight ahead and occasionally make eye contact okay wait what am i supposed to say again

I think I’ve gotten a lot better. I should – I’m an adult now, and supposedly, that’s the stage in life when you get your shit together. It’s the practice: I have to make presentations in class, and now, to bosses, and I have to seem “engaged”. I dread it, I somehow bullshit my way through it, and I come out at the end perfectly fine. Surprise, surprise – I can’t spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

There’s something to be said about growing up. Experience teaches me that I’ll be fine, that I don’t need to worry because the world won’t end if I miss my stop, and it’s become a lot easier to get these thoughts to shut the fuck up.

Besides, I realise that in the end, people are too busy thinking about themselves to think about me. And if they do judge, it’s the cursory kind that literally won’t affect me in the slightest. Do they think I made a mess of my eyeshadow? Are my arms too fat for sleeveless tops? Is my shirt offensive to their eyes? Sure, but if I had the confidence to walk out in them, I’m sure as hell going to feel comfortable enough to not even notice.

it’s my jeans is my fly down again it feels so weird to be walking what do i do with my hands am i walking weird oh fuck is that why people are staring

I check my fly almost obsessively if I wear anything with zips after That One Time, so there’s something to be said about double-checking too.

 *Image source: Click here.


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