The Perks of Not Caring

I’m not a perfect person; I have a lot of flaws, some of which I’m aware of and some of which I’m oblivious. There’s one in particular I’m going to talk about right now. The main and most obvious flaw I have (to me, at any rate) is an unhealthy obsession with having people like me. I’m obsessed with my self-image; not to the point of how I look physically but rather how people perceive me. Regardless of what I think about a person, I want them to view me as neutral at worst and I’d much prefer it if they liked me.

This flaw goes hand-in-hand with my other big flaw, which is I cannot handle embarrassment or shame in the slightest. Every time I’ve embarrassed myself in public (or had somebody else embarrass me) is ingrained in my memory. I end up reliving all those moments at two in the morning when I can’t sleep and my ceiling has somehow become the most interesting thing in my life because my brain won’t turn off. It’s why I can’t make myself dance, sing, or do stupid shit in public because a little part of my brain is saying “somebody is watching this and is thinking you’re an idiot.”

And I really don’t want anybody to think I’m an idiot.

I can trace this need of having people like me and disliking public shame to a singular incident. When I was in second grade the girl I had a crush on found out I liked her. So she and her friend proceeded to find me and laugh in my face for a good while (because, you know, that’s what seven year olds do). And in true Pavlovian fashion I ascertained that females discovering you like them equals public shame and humiliation, therefore nobody can know you like them. EVER. And this led to my hatred of public embarassment and me striving to do anything I could to avoid it. Which then led to me perfecting my self-image and making sure everybody liked me so therefore I would never ever be humiliated in public again.

Of course, all men have the greatest of intentions, and because of my intentions I ended up becoming a very teasable person. Teasing is not the same as humiliation, which I am always thankful for, but I try so hard to make sure I never look like an idiot. And that means some of my friends like to make it their life mission to make me look like an idiot. Which I manage to do a lot on my own anyway – a suave, sophisticated person I am not. I’m less Bond, James Bond and more Paul Blart, Mall Cop. Example: I nearly hurt one of my friends in a class I was taking last semester because I sat in my desk wrong and sent the whole thing tumbling over and nearly pinned her arm underneath it. I’ll say it again in case you missed it: I managed to sit in a desk wrong. There isn’t really anything more I can say.

My perfect, sculpted appearance led to some unintended consequences which I started noticing a few years ago. I had been suppressing my own interests simply due to the fact that I didn’t want to “look like an idiot.” I.E. Like things that would get me made fun of. I didn’t go to the gym (even though I wanted to) because I was afraid people who seriously worked out would look at me and go “wow, what a chump” and laugh. I pretended video games were only a “casual” hobby of mine because, pfft, video games are for NERRRRDDDDSSS. I would only go to social events my friends invited me to because I was deathly afraid of expressing interest in doing something and then nobody else being interested and me planning an event nobody would come to. And I didn’t attempt dating anyone because I didn’t want that humiliating laughing in my face ever.

So once I realized the state I was in (with a good bout of depression to help me realize how fucked I was) I started changing my attitude. The main thing was I started accepting myself. My interests, what I enjoyed, how stupid I could be sometimes – all those things made me who I was. And I remembered that old adage: “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” I started doing what I wanted to, and I started realizing that the me I had been suppressing was the me that people actually enjoyed being around.

But more importantly, I started becoming more like Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive. AKA:

Or more like Fall Out Boy, if you prefer.

When you’re obsessed with people liking you, you become sort of a “yes man.” You’re always agreeing with people and never sharing your opinions, you’re always saying yes to social events and never taking time to yourself. You become kind of a doormat. You also never take risks or try new things, because that puts you in awkward social situations where you could, you know, look awkward. (audible gasp)

It’s very freeing to find your words and be able to say “no.” Or, more accurately as pictured above, “I don’t care.” When somebody invites you to do something and you don’t want to go – you don’t feel pressured to say yes just because you might hurt their feelings and they might not like you as much if you say no to them. And yes, I realize that this is pretty simple logic to grown adults, but as a person who faced crippling social anxiety for a good chunk of his life (I haven’t even told the story of when I realized just how fucked I was socially – that comes at another time) the fact that I was suddenly able to control myself without worrying about the opinions of others was a major breakthrough.

Now I’ve changed into a more complete person. I organize events and do things with friends when I want to – but when my friends aren’t interested I do things by myself because I can have a good time on my own and meet new people that way. I go on dates (when I want to) and have reduced my fear of rejection quite a bit (although it still crops up here and there). I accept my hobbies and who I am and embrace what I enjoy instead of pushing it away. I still don’t go to the gym, though, but that’s purely out of laziness over a fear of looking weird when I go.

I’m not perfect. I still occasionally get that neurotic urge to make people like me no matter what, and I still have that huge fear of public humiliation bubbling underneath the surface. On the other hand, I’ve sung karaoke, goddammit, and that’s something.

But for the last time, don’t ask me to dance. I don’t dance.