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bleeding off some terrible feelings
Dec. 9th, 2019 10:01 amIf you're reading this, first of all, I'm fine. I promise. I just had to bleed off some feelings so I didn't drown in them.
Remember. I'm fine. I've got travel lined up that I'm very excited about. Break is in FIVE more sleeps!
Hi. My name is Deb, and I hate myself. Like legit loathe every single thing about myself. Most of the time, I cannot fathom why anyone might think differently, why they might bother with me at all. This is obviously not great. The part of me that is logical knows that I’m wrong in these beliefs. I recognize the patterns of thought distortions at work, and I can tell you why I’m wrong to so hate myself, why I am worthy and valuable and lovable. I can write a book, replete with footnotes and appendices and cite many reliable sources that show I’m good and worthy and loved and lovable.
Still, as I finish the text, there’s a voice that cuts through to say, “yeah, but no, you’re right. You’re awful and have no right to exist, let alone expect anyone is glad you exist. Also, you’re alone and gonna die alone and no one loves you and no one will truly love you again. No one wants you.” I turn up the music, leave the apartment, forget the voice for a bit, but it comes back. Sometimes it doesn’t come back for days, or weeks. But I can still hear it. I think I’ll always hear it. So the trick is — how do I stop listening?
I accepted without question what I was told about myself —that I wasn’t quite good enough, that I was unworthy and lacking, that every thought and word, that what I did and what I failed to do were sins, that the way to earn love and to be worthy of love was to sacrifice and give everything I had and then give some more, that pain was weakness— because I trusted the source of the message. By the time I was old enough to question, by the time I developed critical thinking skills, it was too late. These ideas had taken insidious hold and I grew up in the trellis of these beliefs.
So know I can see how those beliefs bent and shaped me into a form I do not want, a form that believes still she is unworthy of being seen, of being known, of being loved. I’ve broken most of the scaffolds that held me in place, but new growth is slow. It clings to familiar paths, though branches reach out, reach away, reach for something nourishing, reach for the sun. But growth is still so slow.
I’m not asking anyone to talk me out of hating myself. I do. I’m trying not to. I’ve worked with a therapist. I need to continue working with a therapist. I know there isn’t a switch that I can find and voila! Self Love Magic. So my goal is like this.
I don’t particularly love the beach or the ocean. I didn’t grow up around it, I am frankly a little afraid of its power and magic. I also find it kind of boring. But from time to time I get the urge to go to the sea, splash around, pick up pretty rocks and shells, listen to the rumbling surf. I generally enjoy myself when I go. I appreciate it and understand why other people love it so much. That’s how I want to feel about myself, body and soul. I want to like it okay and appreciate why other people love it. That’s my first step. If I can think about myself the way I think about the ocean and beach, then I think I can accept and believe people who say they love me, because people love the beach. It is a totally normal thing with many great qualities, and even if I would prefer some place else, I legit understand why people love the ocean and I do not think they are weird or wrong at all.
So what do I really love? I love the desert. I’m a little afraid of the desert, of its power and magic. But I really really love the desert. I cannot adequately express how or why I love the desert. I simply love it. Eventually, eventually I want to love myself the way I love the desert. And maybe that happens when I’m fifty, maybe sixty. But I want to get there. I hope I will get there.
Remember. I'm fine. I've got travel lined up that I'm very excited about. Break is in FIVE more sleeps!
Hi. My name is Deb, and I hate myself. Like legit loathe every single thing about myself. Most of the time, I cannot fathom why anyone might think differently, why they might bother with me at all. This is obviously not great. The part of me that is logical knows that I’m wrong in these beliefs. I recognize the patterns of thought distortions at work, and I can tell you why I’m wrong to so hate myself, why I am worthy and valuable and lovable. I can write a book, replete with footnotes and appendices and cite many reliable sources that show I’m good and worthy and loved and lovable.
Still, as I finish the text, there’s a voice that cuts through to say, “yeah, but no, you’re right. You’re awful and have no right to exist, let alone expect anyone is glad you exist. Also, you’re alone and gonna die alone and no one loves you and no one will truly love you again. No one wants you.” I turn up the music, leave the apartment, forget the voice for a bit, but it comes back. Sometimes it doesn’t come back for days, or weeks. But I can still hear it. I think I’ll always hear it. So the trick is — how do I stop listening?
I accepted without question what I was told about myself —that I wasn’t quite good enough, that I was unworthy and lacking, that every thought and word, that what I did and what I failed to do were sins, that the way to earn love and to be worthy of love was to sacrifice and give everything I had and then give some more, that pain was weakness— because I trusted the source of the message. By the time I was old enough to question, by the time I developed critical thinking skills, it was too late. These ideas had taken insidious hold and I grew up in the trellis of these beliefs.
So know I can see how those beliefs bent and shaped me into a form I do not want, a form that believes still she is unworthy of being seen, of being known, of being loved. I’ve broken most of the scaffolds that held me in place, but new growth is slow. It clings to familiar paths, though branches reach out, reach away, reach for something nourishing, reach for the sun. But growth is still so slow.
I’m not asking anyone to talk me out of hating myself. I do. I’m trying not to. I’ve worked with a therapist. I need to continue working with a therapist. I know there isn’t a switch that I can find and voila! Self Love Magic. So my goal is like this.
I don’t particularly love the beach or the ocean. I didn’t grow up around it, I am frankly a little afraid of its power and magic. I also find it kind of boring. But from time to time I get the urge to go to the sea, splash around, pick up pretty rocks and shells, listen to the rumbling surf. I generally enjoy myself when I go. I appreciate it and understand why other people love it so much. That’s how I want to feel about myself, body and soul. I want to like it okay and appreciate why other people love it. That’s my first step. If I can think about myself the way I think about the ocean and beach, then I think I can accept and believe people who say they love me, because people love the beach. It is a totally normal thing with many great qualities, and even if I would prefer some place else, I legit understand why people love the ocean and I do not think they are weird or wrong at all.
So what do I really love? I love the desert. I’m a little afraid of the desert, of its power and magic. But I really really love the desert. I cannot adequately express how or why I love the desert. I simply love it. Eventually, eventually I want to love myself the way I love the desert. And maybe that happens when I’m fifty, maybe sixty. But I want to get there. I hope I will get there.
