CW: Self-hatred. This one was hard. Go with caution, my friend.
I do not feel like anything today.
I feel like I am floating just outside of my body. I am struggling to recognize anything about myself, because who ever was I? I am struggling to recognize these blue-grey eyes, always nearly aching from some recent thunderstorm of tears. I do not know to whom this mouth belongs, only to where I have tried to give it away. I do not know these gangly, soft arms, the high forehead, the round belly and hips.
Because it feels as though I sacrificed her, this creature that I do not know, and today I am grieving. Because I do not know what is before me, and I am scared, and I can only see backwards, and I long for what was once safe and familiar, and I hate myself for it, because it is no longer mine to miss. I said, “No, thank you.” And now I have to deal with that alone.
And the things that would normally call to me and attempt to tether me back to the Earth… Today I am ashamed of them, am ashamed of me, whoever that is. Am ashamed of the tall thing that snarfles down popcorn in bed while reading the same smutty fanfiction because it gives their soft, stupid heart something like comfort.
Whatever I do see about myself, blurred and frayed edges… I hate them today. I hate her, too, for never being enough, for being someone I felt I needed to reject. (I know that’s not how this works, I promise. But I am bitter today, forgive me.)
In the chat server today (Jesus fucking Christ), there was a discussion about the inherent stupidity of needing the validation of Internet strangers. And, sitting there alone in my room, knowing how deeply I want these people to like me, to recognize me, to shower me with affection that will help to teach me who I am, I felt so small and stupid. I shrank away, not that I was really part of the conversation anyway.
And maybe it is inherently stupid to crave the validation of Internet strangers. To hunger so strongly for likes and follows and comments and reblogs, but I DO. I’M SORRY. I AM NOT COOL, AND I WANT ALL OF YOU TO LIKE ME.
And you do! A lot of people do! I don’t fucking get it, frankly, but here we are! So, why am I still so hungry, still so greedy? Why can’t I be a fat, sated little sea lion, basking in the warmth of actual friendship? Why am I instead this warped, greedy, bony sea monster, howling against the waves for something like love?
I don’t know. I have been loved. I am loved. I am afraid no amount will ever be enough to convince me that I am enough. And that road ahead looks long and wild, and some days I just don’t know that I can keep going down it.
We say to those we love, “I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you.” And that’s lovely. Sometimes I wish that I could show you how I see me. I do not know what I hope to gain, only for you to understand that this is serious, this thing in my brain. I am not just flighty, crazy, unreasonable, stupid. (Maybe I am also all of those things.)
It’s not because I want you to feel bad for me, I HATE THAT. Please. I am okay. I have been doing this for years, I can manage. I come here to tell you these things, because- I don’t fucking know- perhaps it is important to me to show you the monster that I believe myself to be, and then see that you are willing to hold my hand anyway?
It isn’t cute, this thing in my brain. My heart pounds and my stomach aches, and I feel like I am going to sweat and slobber my way out of my own skin. I know that my brain is full of lying goblins, but they are SO LOUD, and sometimes volume is enough like the truth.
I am desperate for this validation, from you, from everyone. I will never be full. I swallow it whole, and move forward unblinking in search of another scrap. I do not know why I am like this, only that it is there, and that I hate it.
I do not know why nothing is enough, except for that I am not, so how could anything else be?
(I do not hold you to these standards. You are exceptional, always. I know you would say the same of me, and I wonder if there will be a day when either of us believes the other.)
I long to be cute and fresh and marketable and wonderful, even in my illness, long to turn these ramblings into something like my life (WHY?), but today I just feel ugly and rotten and ridiculous.
I do not feel like anything today.