I used to not care what people thought of me. Of course, in certain ways, I totally did. That is all part of being human, really. In the grand scheme of things though,I was proud of myself that I was not overly concerned. I was not overly concerned with how others viewed me. I did my own thing, and if people did not like it, then that was their problem.
Somewhere along the lines, I’m not really sure what happened or how it happened, I started caring. Not in the normal, part of being human way. In the sometimes it is all I can think about way. I began caring way too much. I hate to admit that. Actually,scratch that. I do not hate to admit that. I just hate that I feel this way at all.
Thinking back on it now, as much as I remember being proud of myself for not really caring; I might have always cared way too much. Maybe I just tried to convince myself that I did not. It may have been a front.
There is no more convincing or fooling myself. The front has ran away and I cannot catch it anymore.
In pretty much every single thing I do or say, I am thinking about what others might possibly think of me.
I care about other’s opinions when it comes to the big things, things that most anybody may care about.
Unfortunately I also care about the opinion’s of others when it comes to the small things. And when I say small, I mean small. Things that most people probably don’t even notice nor care about. But in my mind, they totally do notice, and they are most definitely judging me or thinking negatively of me for it. And then I proceed to overthink whatever they may or may not have saw me do/say for the next 10 days, but that’s a whole other story.
I realize that I am not that important for people to care or think about me that much…
Yet I cannot stop. So often it feels like I am a prisoner to others. The funny thing is that these people do not realize that they have this control over me. It’s actually not really that funny, but ya know what I mean.
I am hoping, so many hopes, that one day I will go back to how I thought I used to be. Hopefully one day I will stop caring, and I will begin to be myself again, no matter what people think of that. I’ve heard that this is something that comes with age, and I am crossing my fingers (pretty much to the point of my fingers being black and blue) that this will be true. If I did not have to wait until I am that much older to adopt this trait, that would be a nice bonus.