Life has been a lot less intimidating recently. My little niche in life is quite comfortable at this point. I am back at school, busy with hours of design and more design. But I always look forward to my nightly phone call. It's like having a little piece of home from far away. I smile thinking about how he must be sitting on the other side of the phone, what he's wearing, if he's clean shaven today or not.
In the few minutes he speaks, I have gained another sense of reassurance that my life will turn out exactly the way I'd like it to. My week is motivated by the need to see him again, to be in his arms, to enjoy ourselves as simply as we can. The world slows down and it only the two of us.
With him by my side, I will accomplish all I set out to, and he will be just as successful. And at the end of it all, we will enjoy all of it together.
8.30.2010
8.16.2010
Insecure
My insecurity begins with my unreachable expectations. I am a person who is constantly striving for personal perfection, an impossible scenario for anyone. The kind of person that will work unbelievably hard for a goal that will never be achieved. Ridiculous goals.
I have created a mindset where the expectations others have of me must seemingly match my own. Meaning if my expectations aren't met neither are their's. If I think I'm performing as an unsufficient girlfriend, than I assume he must be thinking that as well. I am constantly making assumptions of others thoughts. It's why sarcastic comments hit me hard- why I take almost everything to heart. "You're lazy." You're right, I am lazy, I don't work hard enough, fast enough, long enough.
I will never reach the expectations I have come to know so well, therefore I make myself believe that his parents will never believe I'm good enough for their son because I don't believe it, he doesn't find me appealing because I don't, he thinks I'm worthless because I think the same, he'll find someone better because I think I'll never be everything he could have.
Yes, my expecations can be downsized with practice, and I have been trying, but the one thing I can't change are my scars. My hideous awful scars, that constantly remind me that I didn't reach perfection, and that now, I never will. Last night I cried until my eyes were swollen shut, and my dad came to the rescue, just as he always does. He wanted to know what was wrong, and I told him (just like I always do) that I didn't know, that I was just sad, and sadder because I didn't want to be sad. Sadder because I couldn't figure out why. Sad because I had to have this conversation again, to confide in someone again about something I couldn't explain. The only thing I can explain is my insecurity with my scars. I told him I hated being repulsive and hate even more that I can't change. My skin will never heal. I hate the constant reminder of my stupidity. Sometimes my scars onnly act as a negative reminder of my foolishness and push me even deeper into my insecurity.
Dad said he would take them if he could- trade my pain and make it his own. But he wished the memories would always remain as a reminder of my strength. Sometimes I need to hear this from the person I'm most afraid of letting down. He is the only one I ever fully let myself break for. The brick wall I've created crumbles, and I let every part of me become vulnerable because I know he will be there to save me- again and again.
Just as I hate confiding in my family, I also hate confiding in Jim. I hate the redundancy of my thoughts of my feelings. I hate the redundancy of my lack of meaningful words. He always brings up how much better my scars look, and constantly reminds me that I am pushing him away. I never wanted him to love me any less, but quite the opposite, and it seems that I am doing just what I dread. I hate him seeing the one thing I am mostly insecure about. I hate the physicalness of my stupidity. I start to believe that if I am so disgusted by them than must be as well. That I am pushing him away and back to his family. That he slowly finding a route away from me.
Every argument stems from me. Me and my fucking insecurities. I want to trust him with everything I have, but I let my fears develop. I begin to believe in their reality-that everything I fear is truth. I begin to doubt my self-worth and assume that he must be doubting me as well. I've become so fearful that I am even afraid to suggest a movie, a place to eat, or something to do because of what he will think of me. About how immature and silly I must be.
And it only becomes worse when I try to explain myself, I sound like I am degrading him. I sound like I want to push him away, as if I want him to leave me. But that isn't what I want at all, it's something my thoughts have never even touched upon. I want him in my life forever, I want him as a part of my life, just as I want to be a part of his. Explaining it's actually I who doesn't think I'll ever be good enough to fit in with his family because I can't even fit into mine. Explaining that I'm not mad that we're with his family but that I'm scared shitless I'm doing something wrong, dressed wrong, speaking wrong. It's the mind of almost every self-mutilator; we can't compose our thoughts into an understandable sentence. When I say "you could find someone 'better'" inside I'm screaming, "I hate every fucking thing about myself, what do you see in me?!" I begin ranting- talking myself in circles becuase I don't know what I'm trying to say. I only make him more upset because of all my incomprehensible bullshit. Because sometimes all I think I'm good for is a good fuck and maybe some grammatical corrections. Which is also why the loft scares me- because my destructive side is telling me that I could never live the perfect life I've always dreamt of. That this perfect life I've so often wished for is actually coming true-that it is all real. But my destructive side sees the scares and reminds me that I am still fucked up.
I also hate my depression because I can't pinpoint a specific reason for it. Is it really a fucking disorder? Or is he right, maybe it is all in my head. Sometimes I just feel sad, sad for absolutely no reason. And I'm ruining my relationship. I hate that I can't just fix myself. I second guess my sickness because people say its bullshit. And because I think that maybe they're right. I hate that I can't explain and again begin to talk myself into circles, only making everything I say sound like bullshit.
And so now, maybe things are alittle clearer in my head after this. No 'maybe' or 'can't.' I WILL work on myself and do what I can to make myself happy. I deserve my life.
I have created a mindset where the expectations others have of me must seemingly match my own. Meaning if my expectations aren't met neither are their's. If I think I'm performing as an unsufficient girlfriend, than I assume he must be thinking that as well. I am constantly making assumptions of others thoughts. It's why sarcastic comments hit me hard- why I take almost everything to heart. "You're lazy." You're right, I am lazy, I don't work hard enough, fast enough, long enough.
I will never reach the expectations I have come to know so well, therefore I make myself believe that his parents will never believe I'm good enough for their son because I don't believe it, he doesn't find me appealing because I don't, he thinks I'm worthless because I think the same, he'll find someone better because I think I'll never be everything he could have.
Yes, my expecations can be downsized with practice, and I have been trying, but the one thing I can't change are my scars. My hideous awful scars, that constantly remind me that I didn't reach perfection, and that now, I never will. Last night I cried until my eyes were swollen shut, and my dad came to the rescue, just as he always does. He wanted to know what was wrong, and I told him (just like I always do) that I didn't know, that I was just sad, and sadder because I didn't want to be sad. Sadder because I couldn't figure out why. Sad because I had to have this conversation again, to confide in someone again about something I couldn't explain. The only thing I can explain is my insecurity with my scars. I told him I hated being repulsive and hate even more that I can't change. My skin will never heal. I hate the constant reminder of my stupidity. Sometimes my scars onnly act as a negative reminder of my foolishness and push me even deeper into my insecurity.
Dad said he would take them if he could- trade my pain and make it his own. But he wished the memories would always remain as a reminder of my strength. Sometimes I need to hear this from the person I'm most afraid of letting down. He is the only one I ever fully let myself break for. The brick wall I've created crumbles, and I let every part of me become vulnerable because I know he will be there to save me- again and again.
Just as I hate confiding in my family, I also hate confiding in Jim. I hate the redundancy of my thoughts of my feelings. I hate the redundancy of my lack of meaningful words. He always brings up how much better my scars look, and constantly reminds me that I am pushing him away. I never wanted him to love me any less, but quite the opposite, and it seems that I am doing just what I dread. I hate him seeing the one thing I am mostly insecure about. I hate the physicalness of my stupidity. I start to believe that if I am so disgusted by them than must be as well. That I am pushing him away and back to his family. That he slowly finding a route away from me.
Every argument stems from me. Me and my fucking insecurities. I want to trust him with everything I have, but I let my fears develop. I begin to believe in their reality-that everything I fear is truth. I begin to doubt my self-worth and assume that he must be doubting me as well. I've become so fearful that I am even afraid to suggest a movie, a place to eat, or something to do because of what he will think of me. About how immature and silly I must be.
And it only becomes worse when I try to explain myself, I sound like I am degrading him. I sound like I want to push him away, as if I want him to leave me. But that isn't what I want at all, it's something my thoughts have never even touched upon. I want him in my life forever, I want him as a part of my life, just as I want to be a part of his. Explaining it's actually I who doesn't think I'll ever be good enough to fit in with his family because I can't even fit into mine. Explaining that I'm not mad that we're with his family but that I'm scared shitless I'm doing something wrong, dressed wrong, speaking wrong. It's the mind of almost every self-mutilator; we can't compose our thoughts into an understandable sentence. When I say "you could find someone 'better'" inside I'm screaming, "I hate every fucking thing about myself, what do you see in me?!" I begin ranting- talking myself in circles becuase I don't know what I'm trying to say. I only make him more upset because of all my incomprehensible bullshit. Because sometimes all I think I'm good for is a good fuck and maybe some grammatical corrections. Which is also why the loft scares me- because my destructive side is telling me that I could never live the perfect life I've always dreamt of. That this perfect life I've so often wished for is actually coming true-that it is all real. But my destructive side sees the scares and reminds me that I am still fucked up.
I also hate my depression because I can't pinpoint a specific reason for it. Is it really a fucking disorder? Or is he right, maybe it is all in my head. Sometimes I just feel sad, sad for absolutely no reason. And I'm ruining my relationship. I hate that I can't just fix myself. I second guess my sickness because people say its bullshit. And because I think that maybe they're right. I hate that I can't explain and again begin to talk myself into circles, only making everything I say sound like bullshit.
And so now, maybe things are alittle clearer in my head after this. No 'maybe' or 'can't.' I WILL work on myself and do what I can to make myself happy. I deserve my life.
8.01.2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)