Fear-ed out?

If you look at me right now, I’m still tanned as all hell from spending literally hours at the beach. 
But while I was there, getting tan lines so fine they could kill, I did a lot of things I was afraid to do. 

1. Travelling alone. In all fairness, I wasn’t completely alone all the time. I actually went as a third wheel with my sister and her boyfriend. But I kept my distance and didn’t hover over their private time. I did have to get there and back on my own. Now this isn’t exactly a fear as much as it is confusion. I get mixed up and my anxiety gets the better of me. If there’s a neon sign right in front of my face, I’ll somehow manage to not see it. I remember the last time I had to get to Banglore alone, I freaked the fuck out. I forgot where I was supposed to get my luggage, I kept dropping my purse, and I had a break down in the middle of the airport. Bless that uncle who helped me get it together and took me to my airline and got me sorted. But this time I kept my shit together. I made a list of all the things that had to be done and followed it religiously. I paid attention to everything and didn’t make an ass of myself in front of strangers. So I guess I’ll be fine the next time I need to get somewhere alone. 

2. Talking to strangers. Because I was spending a lot of time alone by the beach, a group of people decided to adopt me for a fee days. I can only imagine how pitiful I’d had come off that they decided to adopt a complete fucking stranger to be a part of their vacation. This was hard for me for more than one reason. Whenever I meet someone new, there’s this voice in the back of my head saying “They’re making fun of you.”  Then these people spoke in accents that I could barely understand. But most of them were so nice that I didn’t have to actually understand what they were saying. Plus I reckoned that there’s no way I hell another group of people is ever going to be this nice to me ever again, so I just went along with it. I think I got my social anxiety under a certain level of control. 

3. Clothes. Like I’ve mentioned before, whatever confidence I’d gained in the past two years about my body was brutally gutted by a girl. I was at a point where following MJs path seemed like the only way to feel accepted. I was very confident about my body before. I never was “thin”. I’d always been curvy as all fuck and that wasn’t gonna change so I accepted it. I didn’t care who was staring at what. I was very chill with it. But this time, I was conscious again. I wore the loose clothes that I hadn’t worn in two years. I kept my scars hidden. I wore fucking jeans the first day of my trip.  But by the end of the second day it became apparent to me that there’s no way in hell I can wear clothes which have a high chance to adhering to my skin. I thought a lot about it and decided that fuck it. It’s not like anyone knows me here. I don’t even speak the language. So just fuck it. And so I bought and wore clothes that if my mom ever saw me wearing them, she’d either die of a stroke or give me one. My legs hadn’t seen daylight on three years so I’d forgotten how fucking awesome it is to not have to wear pants. 

4. Talking to guys.  It’s not like I can’t talk to boys or anything. I can. It’s more like “picking up a guy” that’s way out of my league that gets me jittery. I don’t like that many people for that purpose anyway. And more often than not they turn out to be bimbos. But there was this particular guy who I’d seen around the hotel that it just made my jaw hurt(Yeah, for some reason my face starts to hurt when I like a guy.)  He had the calves of a Greek God and just *shivers*. So one day I saw him hanging around the lobby, a day before I was about to leave, and it was dinner time so the place was pretty filled up and he was sitting alone. I hadn’t seen him with anyone else so I took a gamble. If I hadn’t smoked up half an hour ago, I probably wouldn’t have done this. In my defence, I’m blaming my behaviour on hash. I went up to him, laid out my intentions and fifteen minutes later I had his number. Not that I ever called him. He turned out to be the owner of a new café in the city that I live in. I wouldn’t have guessed this by his accent. But he was really nice. His flirting was the best flirting I’ve experienced in my life. We ended up having dinner together. It was fun while it lasted and thankfully it didn’t last a long time. 
5. The ocean. Or rather getting more than 2 feet into it. I can’t swim, okay? I mean I’ll not sink into the water, but I won’t 100% make it either. So this group that adopted me, they were into a lot of things. One day they wanted to go scuba diving. Sure, it’s all fun and all but I can’t do it because I can’t fucking swim. So I stayed outside the water and clicked their “training” pictures and SI called “candid” pictures. Then one time they all started jumping of a fairly high cliff near my hotel. When the first girl jumped I nearly passed out. What the fuck??? Why do you need adrenaline like that?? Look at me, I barely have any adrenaline at all and I’m doing fine. Aside from being severely depressed and suicidal, I’m fine. Then this guy “S” asked me if I wanted to go and jump after him. I explain to him the best I could that I didn’t know how to swim and I’ll probably die. Then he said “if you don’t do it now, you never will”. I understood he came from a good place but it still didn’t solve the problem of me not being able to fucking swim. Then he said that he won’t let me die. One after the other, four of them assured me that they wouldn’t let me drown. So I went up and looked down. I thought if I die right like this, no one will ever suspect anything and I’ll have an easy out. It still took about fifteen minutes to completely say goodbye to life as I knew it. And I jumped. I don’t think I’ve ever screamed as loud in my life. I didn’t think I’d be able to speak at all after that. But I didn’t drown. They save me. Then I jumped like 6 more times before it started to get dark. It was so so so liberating that I didn’t think about dying for a whole week. 

It didn’t solve anything. It doesn’t even matter that I had a few weeks off my shitty life to have some fun without having to answer anything to anyone. It didn’t do shit besides leaving me broke as fuck for the next month. But I guess it did give me an opportunity to do things I wouldn’t have otherwise done. 

Life still sucks. I still want to die more than anything. I don’t have a college yet. But now at least I’ll have something to share with my fellow ghost on the afterlife. 

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