LJ Idol Season 7: Week 12; Sincerest Form of Flattery

My biggest desire in life is a simple one. To most people, it’s nothing they have to think too much about. It seems to naturally happen to others. But to me? It’s a constant battle inside my head.

For as long as I remember, I have always wanted people to like me.

I’ve always been rather socially awkward. I wouldn’t say shy, just a little quirky and different. This, of course, made me an outcast at a very early age. It really all started in 3rd grade, when I transferred from my small private school in the city to a rural public school. Isn’t that how all bad things in youth seem to start?

I was instantly a hit with the popular girls since I came from the big city. They all wanted to hang out with me, and put me in the center of their little circle. That didn't last long though. There was an overweight mentally-challenged girl named Tara playing by herself. The popular girls went up to her, telling her she was fat and calling her mean names as bullies often do.

They tried to get me to join in, but I was stunned. I had never witnessed such cruelty and I was taken aback. I told them it wasn’t right and told the teacher, who merely gave the girls a slap on the wrist. This, of course, didn’t earn me any popularity points and soon I was sitting alone with Tara, forever tossed in the “loser” group for being a good person and doing what was right. I was tossed aside simply for being myself.

Before long, I made friends with the other outcasts, and trust me, they were wonderful people that I loved dearly. But I always wanted everyone to like me. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t be friends with the other downtrodden and still be respected by the “popular” kids. I tried so hard to fit in by trying to dress right and everything.

No matter how hard I tried to be like them, they still never liked me.

That didn’t stop me from trying though.

Don’t all kids have at least one class that they utterly despise? For me, it was 8th grade French. It wasn’t because I disliked the class, I loved learning the language, but I was the only outcast in a class full of the popular ones. I often sat in the very back of the classroom, trying my best to hide and praying that the teacher wouldn’t make us get into groups since no one wanted to work with me when we did. Each day was a struggle, I often spent my time between classes sobbing in the bathroom, wondering what I ever did to deserve such torment from these people.

But one day, I decided that I was going to change all that. I was going to dress up in a preppy little plaid skirt and tights just like all the pretty girls wore. I was going to stand out and make them see exactly how “cool” I was. That would surely change everything, right? I had no doubt that by dressing like them, they would decide to like me and want to be my friend. They would suddenly see how cool I really was once and for all.

Instead of slinking in and hiding, I was going to proudly walk in that door and showcase just how freaking cool I was. Yes, I was going to show them once and for all that I was not a loser, that I was one of them. They would like me and the world would suddenly be a better place.

Having the bladder of a gerbil, I was taking a potty break before class. I heard the final warning bell, grabbed my books and ran into the classroom without giving myself a second look. I stepped through that door, expecting to awe them with my cuteness...

I was met with laughter instead. People were pointing and laughing so hard, they were almost in tears.

I was confused for a second before the teacher yelled “Oh dear! Your skirt! Your skirt is tucked into your tights!” as she came forward to help me.

I slowly looked down and there you have it....The front of my cute little plaid skirt was tucked so tightly into my tights that I could barely pull it out as I walked back to the desk, fighting to hold back the tears so that they wouldn’t see how embarrassed I truly was over it all.

I realized that day that they would never like me, no matter what I did or what I said. I wasn’t one of them and never would be.

It wasn’t until high school that I realized why I didn’t want to be one of them. I chose my fate back in 3rd grade and was that something I would take back? Hell no. There was a reason I didn’t fit in and it had nothing to do with the clothes I wore or the way I wore my hair.

So I rebelled. I wore freakish clothes and dyed my hair weird colors as a big “Fuck you” to ever single one of them. I developed an attitude of defiance. If they didn’t like me, well they could screw off and die for all I cared. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anyone to like me.

Maybe that’s all fine and good...If it were the truth.

I would love to say that I no longer worry about fitting in. I am 28 years old after all, shouldn’t I be more confident by now? Shouldn’t I naturally fit in with people? Shouldn’t I have a group of best friends that love and admire me for who I am?

I remain guarded. I hide parts of myself away out of fear of rejection once again. I often appear to be shy or quiet, when really I am just protecting myself from the judgment of others. I rarely express a strong opinion and I often just nod my head in agreement when others talk until I get to know them well enough to let myself open up, bit by bit.

I no longer try to dress the part of someone I’m not, as that always leads to embarrassment, but at the same time I never let people close enough to see who I really am. I can’t see why they would like me, so it’s best to just stand at the sidelines instead of being hurt when I find out that I was right about them not liking me. It hurts when I feel excluded, which I often do. It feels just like 3rd grade all over again, where I am not good enough to be included with anyone's clique.

Whenever someone admits to liking me, I often wonder “Why would they like me ?”, but really, shouldn’t I be thinking “Why, of course they like me!”? It’s a constant battle with the voices in my head that try so damn hard to prove that I am not good enough, nor will I ever be good enough. How can I expect to feel liked, when I can’t even like myself?