The Silent Struggles of the Brutally Honest and Socially Awkward
There’s a strange kind of loneliness that comes with being a brutally honest and simple person in a world that often seems to thrive on pretense, filters, and façades. I’ve always found it difficult to strike a conversation with people who come off as fake or wear an air of superiority like a fashion accessory. The moment I sense insincerity or an attitude that screams “I’m better than you,” I quietly retreat into my shell. It’s not out of fear, but out of discomfort — the kind that makes you want to leave a room even before you’ve entered it fully. Being socially awkward doesn’t mean I don’t crave connection. On the contrary, I yearn for it — deep, genuine, uncomplicated connection. But my kind of connection isn’t found in crowded rooms, loud parties, or social niceties. It’s found in quiet honesty, shared vulnerabilities, and people who are comfortable with silence as much as they are with words. Over the years, I’ve become cautious, almost skeptical, about making new friends. My cir...