Social Inadequacy

Chapter 1

Communication. The one activity that allows us to speak to other human beings through speech, body language and eye contact. Socialising. An activity that we humans participate in to build relationships and bonds that could last a life time or a week using the basis of communication. Communication is taught, socialising is a given skill. One can be a social butterfly whilst others can only be a worm. No not a caterpillar that will essentially bloom into something else. An earth worm, that stays under the earth with its head constantly burrowed under vast amounts of soil. Its only form is a long, plain, pink, flesh like string.

I classify myself as a worm. My social skills are non-existent. If my social skills were human sadly that being would be paraplegic. I hate the thought of having to speak to people. I try. I really do my best. I even practice in the mirror sometimes. Though I just cant get the hang of it, so it should not surprise anyone to know that I am the bookworm. I read words and rarely speak them. My head is constantly buried in a book. My shield against eye contact and my invisibility cloak that hides me from society. Once you have a book in your hands no one really wants to disturb you.

Although the times I am forced to socialise, I fail dismally. Half the time I dont think about what I say, and words just spew out of my mouth. I remember during a doctors visit he asked me if I was sexually active. Firstly, speaking to the doctor was a mission. Secondly, he was asking me about sex. These two things sent my poor mind into overdrive. All I know is my GP now knows I have no sex life, the techniques I use to self-pleasure and my Porn online history.

Talking is danger to my scarce reputation and to others. Though being eighteen and not being able to make new friends is hard. I am not completely friendless though. Some poor souls managed to sneak their way into my life. The very few people that actually get me without me having to say much at all. I appreciate them. I really dont know how I would have turned out without them.

I gazed at the matted blanket that provided a barrier between me and the grass, and whatever creatures the grass harboured. I picked at the already deteriorating wool. I was contemplating if I should go to school tomorrow or run away and live in the largest library on earth. The later seemed more aesthetically pleasing yet less probable. I didnt like school. I wasnt bullied or anything I just felt school was social segregation. You couldnt speak to just anyone. Not that I could anyway, but I still like to have options.

School was social hierarchy. Your class was determined by the colour of your skin, your familys wealth and your overall physical appearance. I was classified as one of the lowest ranks. I wasnt at the bottom but if I turned around, I could see those who were. I am a brown skin girl. I have a head covered in nappy hair and I had a very prominent muffin top. I was described as thick meaning, I appeal to bald middle-aged men and guys my age dont even look my way.

Just like any other girl I had crushes. Though due to my school career mainly based in private schools my celebrity crushes included Logan lurman, Brad pitt and Asa Butterfield. All white. It is not like I am only attracted to white males it is just what I was surrounded by. There where rarely any black guys and the one that were there, were either gay, ugly or preferred white girls. I didnt blame them for it either. There are slim pickings in the black private school community.

As I get older my crush spectrum has widened. I have more black celebrity crushes, some Asian. I realised although private school impacted my view on beauty, it broadened my horizons. I dont limit love. Though it doesnt mean I am looking for it nor am I anywhere close to prepared for it.

Though being single is not completely my choice. I am not what people have set as ideal. I am not beautiful, but I am not ugly. I believe I could hold my own. Though my weight has held me back. Diets are the devils trick on fat people. Exercise is literal sweaty hell. Most of the time I just give up. Deep down I know no matter what I do the men who I notice will never notice me, therefore why try?

God knows I am not ready for intimate interaction, any interaction at all really. Closest thing I get for attention is gross Garret in Walmart. The stains on his clothes tell me that he misses his mouth when he eats. The sparse hairs on his head, if counted, could tell me his age. The overuse of deodorant and lack of oral hygiene tells me he is single as a stale pringle and is ready to mingle.

I gagged a little at the thought his coffee breath. I close my eyes and prayed: "Lord, I pray you give me strength tomorrow, because I will be tested."