hime
It’s improbable to think that by the end of my life, I will have faced at least fifty rejections. Maybe I’m giving myself too much criticism (or not enough), but my difficulties with the male population have left us at an agreement that regardless of my physical attraction, my personality will never coax well with a man.
It’s not as though the thought of rejection depresses me — I see it as a rather stimulus lesson — but the idea that I may actually spend my life alone.
I've often faced rejection, whether from family or peers, yet it's not some frightening horror that taunts me in the back of my mind, but a rather engaging reality that regardless of how many times I face rejection, I will still have the strength and confidence to be, dare I say it, myself.