My Backpack of Problems

Insecurities breed worry

       In this life, I carry the weight of worry.  My mind dwells on the difficulties and troubles of scenarios that have yet to occur, rather than prepare to face them by understanding that I always manage to work hard and succeed, no matter what comes my way.  I torment myself with ideas about what others think about me, and how others do, and constantly assess the validity of my own goals and accomplishments.
       The biggest source of worry is sprung from the ideology of the perfect image in this era.  I see people in magazines and on TV with their perfect bodies, beautiful clothes and selfless, kind attitudes, that effortlessly shape them into the Grecian gods and goddesses of our time; while I sit and aspire to be anything close to them, yet I stress over the fact that I might not.  I concern my mind with the horrible thoughts about how I am not good enough for society today, and how I would much rather sit in my room watching Netflix alone, than go to a dance, and have fun with people just to expel any risk of embarrassment, or judgement from my peers.  I worry they will judge me because I didn’t get asked to the dance because of how I look.  I worry that if I actually finish my food like I want to, they will say I’m fat, because they only eat strawberries for lunch.
       I worry that the snickers and the giggles behind my back, from kids I don’t even know are about me, because what I wear isn’t always up to par or my hair is always in the same style or my teeth aren’t as white as everyone else’s because I’m not allowed to get them whitened like my friends.  I worry that I am not invited, because my own “friends” don’t think I am pretty, or skinny enough to be seen with them.   I worry that they all think that these are things I can control, that it is my fault I gained weight, not the fact that I have a disease. I overthink the fact that people actually care about what my hair looks like.  I worry that they aren’t actually my friends, but pretend to be because I try to hold on to a 4 year relationship.  My brain is constantly overworked with my overthinking.  How do I act?  What should I say?  Do I make fun of them because my “friends” are?  I am scared that if I truly said what I felt, people would say I was a loser.  Or make fun of me more than they already do.  I agonize myself because I want to say that it hurts to be made fun of, but if I do, I will be perceived as immature, or sensitive.
       I worry that our world will not be suitable for my children, and that they will have to suffer because of our mistakes.  I am perturbed that my sleepless nights are a cause of my worry, and will get worse, and cause me health problems when I’m older.  I am disquieted by the maybe, not even the fact, that my constant unsettled, stressed, anxious characteristics are the cause of a disease that has caused me to be even more uneasy.
       I am stressed with my own thoughts and worries.  I am worried right now, what will this say about me? I am concerned and worried by maybes.  Maybes rule my world.  I have never known for sure what anyone actually thinks or feels towards me, I only know what  my worries have made reality.  And now, that “maybe” world is my real world reality.
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