My Secret Paranoia and Compliments.

Seriously. I'm always worried that somebody is out to kill me. When I'm driving in my car, and I pass somebody, for a brief moment I wonder if they have a gun and will shoot me. I look both ways, twice, when I cross an intersection, because I'm convinced one of these days a drunk guy is going to fly through the red light into me at 100 miles an hour. When I was little, I feared somebody would break in my house at night and stab me. I always lock doors. I always keep the shades down. When I'm in a hotel or new room, I almost always consider what objects I will use for a weapon in the event that somebody breaks in with a gun or knife. When I enter a bank or large building, I stay close to bullet-proof objects in case there is a shootout. I don't know how I got it in my head, but since about age nine I've felt that the world was out to kill me when I wasn't paying attention. I hide behind people for a cushion in case a car drives through the building wall and hits me. They're subtle things, but I've done them regularly for most of my life. On the other hand, I realize that my fears are completely ridiculous. If anybody knew I always prepared myself for an attack, that'd be just one more thing to think I'm weird about, so believe me when I say I've never told anybody this. I've always secretly worried that I'm crazy, and that if a psychologist found out, they'd recommend medication. I've never been to a psychologist or counselor. I've never been on any prescription medication (except once for poison ivy six years ago), and I never even took an Advil until High School because 1) I couldn't physically swallow pills--my throat would gag, and 2) I was anti-medication, thinking one day I'd ingest a pill that was poisoned (of course, I said it was because my illness wasn't that bad/they tasted horrible/I wouldn't complain/don't worry about it).
Secret worries are part of my personality. I'm full of doubts. I'm skeptical. If somebody says I look handsome, rather than think they think I'm handsome, I think they're trying to be nice, or they're not a good judge of beauty. Gauging my attractiveness has always been difficult for me, for on the one hand I've dated seriously hot women, but on the other hand, women care less about looks than men and may have liked me for, say, my sense of humor. I can't fully believe compliments from girlfriends, friends or family, because they're probably just trying to be nice. When gay guys hit on me, I think, "what a nice thing to say!" but I can't believe compliments when there is an ulterior motive, like trying to get me in bed. For the most part, women ignore me, and this has convinced me that I'm mediocre looking. The one compliment that has stuck with me came from my best friend's girlfriend, who said that in all seriousness, I was one of the better looking guys on campus. Maybe by this, she meant I was in the upper 50th percentile, but it still cheers me up because she was sincere about it, and whenever I'm feeling down about my looks, I think of what she said. Normally, I would write this comment off, thinking she was trying to flirt with me, but she never lied and she wasn't trying to cheat with me. Anyway, she most likely doesn't remember saying it, but it's stayed with me all these years. It's taught me that a good compliment can be very meaningful to someone's life in the same way that middle school put-downs can. I need to work on giving away compliments. Smiles and laughter aren't necessarily enough. Historically, I've been sparse with giving compliments, worried I will seem like an ass-kisser, or that I'm trying to hit on them. I've just got to put that in the back of my mind and offer a compliment sometimes. Now, when my sister looks irregularly nice, I put away the silent voice that worries she'll think I'm into incest and say, "You look nice today." Mostly, I give away compliments to strangers though, because those are the most meaningful. There are so many negative people in the world; I feel every bit of positive charm I can bring to it helps. Laughter is contagious, and a smile from a stranger can perk up somebody's day. The same goes with compliments. Follow me around for a week and you'll probably hear me say "I don't say this to all the cashiers, but I love what you've done with your hair," "Excuse me, but you smell absolutely wonderful. What is that you're wearing?" and "Damn, how'd you fit that ass in them jeans?" But, the last one I'll only say when I'm alone, talking to myself. Then, I'll rub hot cocoa butter all over my body. Or, maybe I won't. I'll leave to your imagination.