Everyone
has bad habits they can’t kick.
Smoking, nail biting, swearing, you name it someone does it
relentlessly. The question is how do we stop?
How do we stop feeding the monsters that plague us? And why do they
plague us in the first place? The simple answer is that they are coping mechanisms. In my case, I've had many bad ones
and have kicked just about all of them.
All but one.
The
beauty of my habit is that no one ever sees it. My habits no longer manifest themselves in physical ways. There are no more bloody fingertips from
constant nail biting, or scabs from scratching and picking my blemishes. No, my habit is my dirty little secret. Well, until now.
No
one that knows me socially or on the surface would understand. Or even be aware. Hell, some people might even be flat out shocked. The few people that know me intimately, my
husband, my absolute closest of friends, they know. I’m sure they don’t understand it fully, but they know. I've managed to let those few people close
enough to me to really see the damage.
Funny enough they still talk to me and seem to still want to be in my
life. And even though I constantly
question it, I try to accept their friendship and love the best I can.
One
of my dearest friends always tells me to I have to learn to accept myself. As I am.
And as I have grown older I am continuously learning to do that. I can accept all the parts of who I am good,
bad, or indifferent. But accepting
myself and liking myself are two entirely different things.
I
don’t know when it began. I just
remember it being there as long as I've had a memory. This comfortable fall back habit I have. My old faithful, my comfort zone. The thing I can’t seem to give up, even as I
evolve as a woman and come through the roughest of days. It grips me and has me convinced of it. It is my self-loathing.
Ok,
let’s just say it now. I sound insane
and in need of mental help. I assure
you, however I am not insane. I am very
sane in fact. I just don’t like myself
very much. I am sure if there were ever
a couch to have me examined on, the doc would most likely have a field day
cracking the inner thoughts of this skull of mine. Now I am not suicidal and I have no desire to bring harm to
myself. I just find that in certain
times of difficulty it is easier and much more logical to take the blame for
the negativity in the situation and turn in completely inward. I can go from zero to 100 in ten seconds
flat. I can throw my mind down a
spiraling black hole of self-deprecation, doubt, and disgust. I can find fault in every ounce of my
being, believing the things and situations that are unpleasant would cease to
exist if I were not involved with them.
I constantly think I am a terrible burden on my husband and sometimes my
friends.
And
I have decided to write about it to own it.
I
am not looking for sympathy nor is there a need to inundate me with texts and
phone calls. I am fine. Really, I am fine. But I do know its not the norm and most people will think I am
coo coo for cocoa puffs after reading this (if they don’t already). This blog has allowed me to explore my
recovery, my triumphs and my evolution.
It would be a farce to also not be honest about the things that are dark
and not so warm and fuzzy. When I began
writing this blog just about a year ago this week, I promised anyone who read
this 100% honestly. Not just the funny
and triumphant honesty, but the uncomfortable and embarrassing honesty as well.
So
here it is. I have never learned to
like myself.
I
don’t know why. I just don’t.
As
I am now three years healthy I have to be truthful with myself. If I want to move forward in my life and
continue personal evolution I have to own this, explore this, and at the very least no longer
be embarrassed about it. I've spent a
very long time trying to compensate for all the things I think I lack. And it’s only made me feel worse about
myself as I sit here thinking about how I really should be six feet under now. The days I wonder why I didn't die in that
hospital bed haunt me. Why was that
second chance given to me? What am I
supposed to do with it?
I
can’t explain when or how this frame of mind happened. It just did. I’m sure some would speculate about my parents dying when I was
young or the distance between me and my other family. How I have always been a loner at heart and spent much of my
young life in sink or swim mode…. Yada, yada, yada. I don’t look for reasons to justify it; I just accept it as my
truth.
I
realize that this point of view towards myself isn't healthy and it’s not
really appealing. Well that’s totally fine. I’m not trying to win any
popularity contests. I’m simply trying
to accept myself and embrace my flaws.
There are oh so many of them.
This is simply one. I don’t like
myself. I can be confident in my intellect and the other strong qualities I
possess, and can rile up a room because I am funny as hell. I just can’t find enough kindness to love myself the
way the healthiest of people do. I
focus on my flaws and give little credence to the good in me.
I
am loud, brash, blunt, and in my younger days, I was simply obnoxious. I have matured out of the obnoxious but
still have a big mouth. And sometimes
the inner censor, often fueled by my ever-short temper, gets turned off. I am horribly impatient and can be
ridiculously selfish. I can also be kind, compassionate, and I have the ability
to empathize with anyone. But that is not the part of me most people see.
This
old habit has been haunting me lately.
Between stress at work, a stifled and cracked marriage, and a broken
foot that has kept me from anything physically productive or empowering I am
left with my thoughts. And folks, they aren't great. LOL I am fighting the urge to hide and sequester myself. My instinct is to retreat. I want to shutout everyone and isolate
myself from the world so I can wallow in this pool of self-hatred. But I’m not. I’m doing the ridiculously insane opposite. I am shouting from the rooftops how fucking
horrible I feel. In doing that at
least, I am honoring this air I still have the privilege to breathe.
And
for me that is continued evolution.
