A Letter to My Self | stitchmouth's Blog

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Looking back at myself, I don't remember a time that I ever felt beautiful. Well, there was once, but that was seen more as inner beauty, but that bridge was torn down faster than it was built. I don't know when I started hating myself. If it was before or after my parents divorced, I was seven at the time. I always remember seeing everything as a radiant, shining, beautiful thing, wondering when I would ever, if ever, be as beautiful. I wasn't only comparing myself to other people but to inanimate objects, art, nature, life, and science. It wasn't until the boom of pop sensations like N'sync, Brittney Spears, etc. came onto the market that it began to wea ken my defenses the most. By fifth grade I already weighed over 100lbs, probably closer to 150lbs. I was tall for my age, 5'5, but I never allowed this to be an excuse for my not being as thin and dainty as the other girls. I hid this fact by becoming a tomboy. I wore it much better than being girl, I felt safer from the fear of rejection as a girl. It also gave me reason to distance myself from ever really showing feeling of attraction to guys my age, which I did, believe me, I had many crushes, but these always stayed locked up inside of me. I wanted more to be accepted for who I was rather than appearances. I think my lack of self confidence as a growing lady affected my mom the most, and our relationship of mother and daughter. She would always tell me that I was beautiful, try to get me to dress nicely and show off. I don't know if it was shyness, or fear that gave me so much grief over fighting for my own beauty. I tried though, many times, to humor my mother and become "beautiful". I went with her shopping, to salons, dying my hair, wearing make-up, but never did I feel pretty with any of it. I even took her advice and tried dating in 7th grade. It didn't last long. None of them did, but I was the one at fault for that. I felt it was undeserved attention, or even fake attention, like I was only being used for a cheap laugh or to see how easy I could be. I knew that it wasn't for beauty. Bless my mom for trying her hardest, but it sickened me, and brought me down into a depression. I felt unwanted. I feel at that point was when I became ugly on the inside as well. I wanted attention. I wanted to feel wanted. I just didn't know how to gain any of that though. The tension in the house forced me to ultimately get away from it all. I moved away, to live with my father. I wanted to start over, with a blank slate, but I carried over something that was already damaged; I was a tomboy and a clown. I started ninth grade at a completely new school, new faces, and a new experience. I looked forward to it. I even brought myself to dress nicely, and tried boosting my confidence. But this didn't last long; already the dramas felt in high school had already affected me, making me fall deeper into my shell. The fear of being rejected was already showing it's face, and evidence was around me that proved that it was eminent. It wasn't long before I started dressing in baggy clothes, hoodies, and shopping more and more from the men's and boy's department. I felt like I was inadequate. Everything about me was ugly, and needed to be hidden so that others wouldn't find out. "My boobs are too small"," my thighs are too thick", "my butt is too big", "I weigh too much". These thoughts began to eat at me. I looked around at all the gorgeous people around me. Not just people who could have been models, in my eye, but also those who had a certain "spark". I had no redeeming traits about me. Yea, I made friends through the laugher I brought people, but it was forced from my side. I wanted everyone to like me, I craved the attention. I believe that the attention I did receive created and boosted a false ego. I tried to show an air about me, like I was ok, everything was fine, but it wasn't. I wanted more. I began to give myself false hopes, making myself think that I was the smartest being around. That nothing could touch me anymore. It almost got to the point where I was cynical, callous even, to the outside world, but at the time I thought I was right. I thought I was always doing the right things, being the good person. Like I could do no wrong; by making myself think that I was a 'good person' for knowing my faults, for blaming myself, for place blame in places where I thought they were needed. I thought I had outsmarted some system of checks and balances. By blaming myself, never gaining true happiness for myself, like some sort of penitence for sins; I was free. I was, at the time, thinking I had become beautiful on the inside. Looking back on it now, I know that’s not the case, and wasn’t right of me. I still don’t know whether it was right or wrong, what was real and what wasn’t, but I do know that I hurt people during this time. I was stepping over people while trying to get a grasp on who I was. I guess in all what I’m saying is I don’t feel beautiful, inside and out. Like I’ve lost any hopes of being someone that I could see as beautiful. I wanted to feel the void of outer beauty by playing up a false inner beauty. I’m all the time told I’m a good person, but can it be really true if I don’t believe that myself? I’m always calculating, down grading anything I do. It’s never going to be good enough; I’m never going to be good enough. I’ve given up on trying to look pretty. I’ve given up on wanting anything for myself. I’ve become indifferent to everything around me. Have I become soulless? Heartless even? I push away everything around, trying to keep a distance so that others won’t see these insecurities. I make promises, and hold them even if they shatter me. I want to be loved, but sometimes I question whether the things I do are the right things, even if they hurt me. Why am I constantly wanting to be alone if I’m looking to become loved? I think that I still fear that possibility of rejection so much to the point that I push everything away so that it’s not even a possibility. I don’t know whether I should hate myself for this or not, but I have to write it out; to know my true feelings about the subject matter. I made a promise to my husband that he could have any girl that he wanted, sexually in meaning. I felt like I had falsely advertised to him at the beginning of our relationship, and I wanted to make it up to him. I myself not being very affectionate, or sexual in nature, though I thought I was, or could be, when I first was with him, but again I know this was wrong. I know that I just feared losing him, being rejected, so I put it out that it was ok, that I could do it. I could change to become someone wanted, needed even. I thought I was being the better person by allowing this ‘promise’. I mean, it doesn’t really affect me. I really don’t care if he sleeps with other women. I even think it benefits me, but that’s where I feel like I’m a horrible person. Like I’m manipulating things again to get what I want. No one else that I know would allow something like this to happen in their relationship, but I feel like I’m a bigger person for doing so, for seeing past the boundaries and being ‘mature’. But is it? I don’t know. It wasn’t until just very recently that this situation was put to the test. I felt ok about it, it didn’t bother me. I was actually happy that my promise was finally fulfilled actually. But, there are always those ‘buts’, and this is where I feel like a horrible person again, I let it affect me by just one fear. I had only one stipulation on the agreement, which I would know about it beforehand. He forgot, or not really forgot, but didn’t think the situation would arise so he told me it wouldn’t happen. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, actually I hoped that it would so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the sexual frustration later on, but when I found out afterwards, an ugly side reared its head inside of me. I wanted to get mad. I wanted to be jealous, and furious at the situation, even knowing that it wasn’t something to really bother me, but I wanted to feel these emotions. Maybe, I don’t know, the fear of being rejected and not wanted again began to resurface. I felt horrible at myself for feeling this way, since my own thoughts before, and during this instance of time, I was rooting for it to happen. I guess it just came as a shock that it really did happen. It doesn’t really hurt me though, or at least I don’t think it does, but again, I’ve been indifferent for so long that I don’t know my own true feelings about anything. I feel empty, but I don’t feel any urgency to feel that void. I actually want to keep the emptiness. I want to continue wearing this shell. Like I’ve said, I don’t know if it’s for better or worse, but I want to continue nurturing this part of me until it becomes completely me. I want to stay calculating, and manipulative like this. I know it’s ugly, but I don’t know whether I should care or not. I’ve been so alone for so long that I don’t know how to interact with the world like it should be done. I want to keep thinking that I’m doing the right things, that I’m doing everything I can. I don’t know if I’m waiting for it all to come crashing down on me some day, or waiting for that pat on my back saying that I’ve done superb. I just don’t know anything anymore, and I don’t even know if I want to. Heh, beauty is a bitch, isn’t it? I still don’t feel beautiful, and frankly don’t care that I don’t feel beautiful, but I still want it. Maybe I just need some new stimuli in my life that will show me once again what I began searching for so long and make me actually care to the point of wanting it as well. Who knows, maybe I’m just lying to myself again. I mean, I’ve done it before in the past, could this case be any different?

Posted by stitchmouth at 04:00 on November 7th, 2009 at 4:00AM