I am not a burden.
At least that’s what I try to tell myself.
Over the years though, it hasn’t become any more believable. Every conversational remark, text message or genuine question feels like a waste of someone else’s time. It doesn’t matter what I have to say. People are better off communicating with their real friends, their real relationships.
It’s a strange thing to feel as a child, let alone as an adult, that your circle is only your circle because they feel obligated to hang out with you, or your partner only cares about you because you benefit them.
This inability to sense my own intrinsic value as a part of society caused me to build a facade that I’m not sure can be torn down. Sure, on the outside I’m bubbly and easygoing, but what courses through my veins is a deep-rooted feeling of anxiety that cannot be let by a simple “but we love hanging out with you!”
I need to understand, fully and completely, what you really think, which, in and of itself, is quite burdensome.
Whenever I would propose my desired hypothetical superpower to be mind-reading, all of my peers frowned in disapproval. Why pick something so insipid when there’s the opportunity to move mountains or fly boundlessly at your fingertips?
To know how others felt about me was akin to saving the world.
If I could tell exactly what response any one person would have to something, I’d say, there’d be no more guessing how they’d react, no more hoping I made a good impression; everything would just fall into place and I’d finally feel that perfect, real connection.
Alas, superpowers are just that – hypothetical. Instead, my gift is an unparalleled longing. An inextinguishable desire to send a message guilt-free and truly believe any and all recipients found it a worthwhile use of their time.
In these last three years, I’ve had a lot of experiences which disprove my distorted narrative. Starting here at The Scout, I met a group of the most inspiring, thought-provoking and (un)amusing people I know.
Some of these coworkers blossomed into friends, and maybe the best friends I’ve made at this university. Occasionally, we terrorize Chili’s. Sometimes, we laugh at live TV fails. No matter what we get up to, I always feel like I belong, like I matter.
When I was invited to join the Symphonic Winds on clarinet, I was a freshman. I was scared and didn’t know a soul. Fortunately, there was another freshman clarinetist I placed right next to.
Together, we share boba outings and poorly-rated movies, never forgetting what it means to truly be in tune.
Finally, thanks to the power of the internet, I’ve met a partner who has more patience than a monk and never fails to help me feel secure.
As I transition out of college, and subsequently away from a handful of people who may, with reasonable plausible deniability, like seeing my face around campus, the fear grows with no limit in sight.
What is there to do about this? I don’t know, but that’s kind of the epitome of getting older, or so I’m told, and every instance of change is just another brick laid in the building of life.
It took 870 years to build the great metropolis of Rome. Hopefully, I can figure it out just a bit quicker
