Current mood:

drained

I've been thinking a lot lately about how I view myself and about where those views came from. Read on at your own risk.


I hate myself. I hate myself because I have trouble seeing the good within myself. I do not feel that I am a good person nor do I feel I deserve good things. I have always been given everything I need without much work needed, and I've had that shoved in my face more times than I can count. Rich girl. Trust fund baby.

Yes, and I've been looked down upon for it so often that I've started to hate it. No matter how hard I work, everything I do is chalked up to the fact that money is not much of a problem for me. I'm trying to accept this, to accept that I have these advantages, that others don't, and that I need to stop beating myself up over that. It does nothing, fixes nothing.

And then there's the whole being able to accept myself as I am thing. I hate myself as I am. I hate my inabilities, my failings, my addictions. I hate them so much that I am unable to accept good things about myself sometimes. I don't think I'm pretty. I think my hair is beautiful because I've been told that over and over and over again by complete strangers until I can't help but think it. But as for the rest of me...

Despite the fact that I'm in no was shape or form Christian, I some how picked up on the whole vanity is a sin thing at a very young age. I've always been afraid to look into the mirror and find something good there. Add that to the fact that for many many years I was told, at school by other kids, and at home by Ron, that I was ugly, awkward, awful. I don't want to be vain, but I'm just now starting to understand that in order to accept myself, perhaps I need a little vanity, a little confidence in my looks. I need to start looking into the mirror and saying 'this is me. I might be a little pretty. They can all go fuck themselves.'

Lastly, I've realized that I have faith in nothing and trust in nothing. I've been let down so many times after trusting people that at some point I just quit. I had some friends that weren't good friends. I had a step dad that apologized profusely after our arguments, but the apologies meant nothing. I still have trouble believing apologies, no matter how much I trust the person. There's always a little voice in the back of my head telling me that it's nothing but words, and words mean nothing. (strange view for a writer, I know.)

I trusted that my mom would protect me, and that didn't really work out either. Ron's abuse started before they married and kept on right till the end. I don't remember her ever stopping him, ever demanding an apology. I do remember showing her a porcelain figure my grandma had painted that he broke, telling her that he broke it, and then simply having her help me fix it without another word said. Who cared if my door doesn't open right because he used to beat on it, threatening to break it down if I didn't open it? Who cared that I started spending more time in my room, away from everyone else just so I could stay out of Ron's way? Who cared that I wanted to kill myself?

Yes, I know my friends cared, but those threats were my way of begging for help, help that I never got. (I did not know this at the time, I only figured this out toward the end of senior year, when I came closest to getting that help, long after it was really, truly needed.) I do not blame anyone. High school is certainly not a time for wisdom and I hold none of my friends responsible for the fact that help never came. I got through it on my own, with my own strength. When I force myself to think about it like that, I'm proud that I was able to do it. Yes, I used my phobias to keep from actually cutting myself and yes, I still hold onto those phobias out of habit and the fear of regression. I used what I had. It wasn't the best way, but it was a way out.

If you're wondering why I decided to put this all up here, it's because I'm trying to change my view of myself. As long as everything stays within my head, I get nowhere. Everything just circles endlessly and nothing ever changes. I think that's partly why I used to put so much shit up in my pita. It was the only way to get it out of my head, to vent it out into the void of the internet. Maybe someone will read it, maybe not, but it being out there is the important thing for me, I think.

Tomorrow I'm driving up to Denton to see my puppy. Yay!