I struggle every day with the concept of self. What is this jumble of things inside this body that makes me who I am?
I have always wanted to be someone special. All my life I’ve thought about the ways I wanted to matter to different people, how I have wanted to impress and see the look on someone else’s face when I have accomplished something profound. And yet there was never any real sort of satisfaction in the kind words and congratulations of others. It all left me feeling more empty than ever before. If not that, then what? What am I searching for and why, no matter how fucking hard I try, can I never seem to find it?
For as long as I can remember I have been completely terrified of people. I have no recollection of where or how this started, only memories of all the times I’ve let it get in the way of living. I’ve allowed myself to become so burdened by my insecurities that I now look at where I am and what I’m doing, and I feel a very real sense of disappointment. I had so many dreams at different points in my life, all pushed aside by that stupid voice in the back of my head that always told me I could never be good enough. After years of therapy and careful introspection I’d like to think it would have subsided, but it is still there sometimes, jumping out of the bushes, pushing me down on the ground when I least expect it. It always comes in those moments when I start to get my footing and feel sure of myself. And I talk about it as if it is an entity separate from myself when it is, in fact, a monster entirely of my own creation. I am the one telling myself I’m not worth it, I am not beautiful, I am not smart, I am not talented, I am not ever going to be enough. And it can become so overwhelming sometimes to feel like you have no control over your own mind, that you can’t tell that motherfucker in your head to fuck the hell off. And there is no amount of talk or reassurance that anyone around you can offer to ever make you believe that you are, in fact, not a loser.
I make a concerted effort not to let this part of myself show because I am well aware of how unattractive it is; how sad it is to admit that there are times when you see yourself in such a distorted view that all you know is complete and utter hate and disgust. And yet it is there, it is a part of me only because I allow it. And I want to say it here because I know I’m not the only one. I know I’m not the only person who let’s that negative self-talk shit all over their potential, kicking it like a building made of blocks and before you know it the pieces are scattered all over the basement and lodged in the wall.
I don’t have any certain wisdom or resolution to offer up in all of this. I imagine that if I did, I wouldn’t be here to write it. It’s so easy to look at other people and see how inexplicably beautiful they are (and holy fucking shit, people, you are GOD DAMN STUNNING) and then to never recognize the same things in yourself. Certainly not when you need to see it the most. And I don’t know how to get there but I’m fighting so hard for it because I know it’ll make me a better wife, sister, daughter, friend and above all else, a better me.