LJ Idol Season 7: Week 25; Uncarved Block

Once I left the confines of my high school hallways, I had hoped to finally find peace within myself. No longer was I faced with the bullies lurking around every corner, waiting to tear me apart for merely being myself. However, once the high school tormentors were gone, a new breed of bully glided into place so smoothly, I hadn’t realized they were even there.

I was no longer suffering humiliation and degradation at the hands of bullies or an abusive boyfriend, so my mind filled the void. It worked hard, never stopping for a moment in its endeavor to prove to me what everyone had been telling me for years: that I suck. And not in the fun way either. Oh no, my brain soon became the biggest tormentor of my life. After all, unlike most strangers, my brain knows precisely where I am weak and just how to make me break every time. Not satisfied with the minor insults, it dug the knife deep below the surface, seeking out the most delicate pieces of myself and relished in the destruction as it dug deeper and deeper, carving and cutting until there really was nothing left of my self esteem, my confidence...or even me.

How do you go about proving your own brain wrong?

If you’re like me, you don’t. You live your life reinforcing the negative thoughts, looking for proof that it’s right. You can’t admit that your brain is leading you astray after all. It’s much easier to just find reasons to agree with it. So that’s what I have been doing for the last 28 years of my life. I have been finding reasons why I should hate myself for so long, I didn’t even know that I was doing it anymore.

I will never be liked by enough people to believe that I am a likable person. I will always find proof that people really don’t like me. I will find ways to justify it to the bitter end too, looking for every little reason to prove that I am not good enough to be cared about by anybody. I find myself twisting and turning every little comment into an insult pointed directly at me thus proving just how unlikeable I truly am. Without even realizing it, I shelter myself away from people since I would rather be alone than face the rejection that almost always comes...or at least seems like it always does. Now, I don’t even chance it. I just stay away from people, never letting them get too close to hurt me when in reality, I am hurting myself far more than anyone else ever could.

It doesn’t just stop with my personality either. I will never be thin enough. I will always call myself fat and disgusting in my own head. Even at a size 2, a size I never thought I would reach, I could look in the mirror and see nothing but obscene amounts of fat. How was it possible to be so tiny that people were expressing concern over your increasingly shrinking figure and still feel like you were the fattest person to ever grace the planet? I can’t explain it.

Even today, at a size 6/8...I consider myself insanely fat, ignoring the fact that at one time in my life, I was much larger and that there are obviously people who would kill to be my size. I don’t see it. I consider myself an optical illusion because there are times I can glance in the mirror and see the tiny figure standing before me...but then I look again, and she’s gone. She’s replaced with a disgusting pile of lard that no one would ever look twice at. My mind plays tricks on me like that...teasing me with the sense of feeling small and then yanking it away while it laughs at me for even liking what I saw for a second.

But it’s not all about being thin. My food obsession doesn’t stop there. I starve myself as a punishment, as something I deserve. I enjoy the torture so much that I used to walk through bakeries, looking at all the yummy desserts while my stomach would growl deep within me and then deny myself. I would be proud of myself for holding out against all odds. I learned to love that painful feeling of hunger because it was, in a way, punishing my body for not being pretty enough. I would deprive myself of the very sustenance I know I needed to survive as punishment for not being thin enough.

It all really goes back to one important idea that I tell myself over and over: I don’t deserve happiness. I don’t deserve the nice things people do for me. I don’t deserve admiration for anything I do. I deserve none of it, and often feel guilty when someone so much as holds a door open for me. I’m comfortable being overlooked time and time again because I wouldn’t now how to handle being noticed. I’m reassured by the thought that I am not good enough to be the center of attention because then it just proves what I already know about myself once more. It keeps things less complicated, my brain doesn’t have to fight so hard to find proof that I am not good enough that way.

I don’t feel like I deserve to be happy. After the seemingly countless years of abuse I’ve endured, I don’t feel like I deserve to be treated well. The years and years of being told that I am not worthy and that I am simply not good enough have shaped me into this person who feels like I deserve the abuse. My brain tells me that if I don’t get it from someone else, then I must put it upon myself because that’s what I deserve.

And perversely, I enjoy it. It pains me to admit, but deep down, I secretly do. My life experiences have shown me time and time again that I deserve nothing good, only pain. The happier I am, the more inclined I am to find reasons to be sad. I often look for reasons to be hurt, picking apart words and phrases, looking for insults and slights that more times than not don’t exist. I tear myself apart, rip into my psyche and make the tattered remnants of my self esteem all but impossible to ever put back together. Because that’s what I deserve. Every little bit of it.

And yet, while all of this has grown to be so comfortable and reassuring in its own sick way...there are now times when I realize how wonderful life can be if those bullies were banished for good. They seem like they are friends, oh yes...but once you discover what it’s like to be treated with kindness, and to be loved for who you are, you begin seeing those demons for what they truly are.

Lying in his arms, curled up comfortably beside him as he strokes my hair tenderly...He tells me I am amazing. I deny it, but he insists. Somewhere inside of me, I want to believe it too. What does he see in me, I ask myself? Maybe I do want to find the answer to that question after all? If he sees something inside me, maybe I can too?

For the moment, I am happy and content...And not just with him (though very much so with him) but in relishing the feeling of letting go of all my doubts and listening to what he has to say about me instead of the angry voices in my head. Here is someone who believes in me even as I don’t believe in myself. Here is a kind voice that's strong enough to fight against all the means ones in my head. They don't like it very much, and try to fight back. Little by little, they realize the fighting is futile since he is much to strong for them. His voice is the one slowly winning the battle over how I see myself.

I’m not used to that. And yet...I like it. I like the feeling of being happy and not having any reason to hurt. I think I like it more than the pain and torment I inflict upon myself after all. This surprises me.

All these years, I’ve let my self worth be dictated by the world around me. That’s not how it should work. Oh no...No one in the world has the power to change me into anything I don’t want to be. I have to carve out exactly what I want out of my life, and from myself. No one can do it for me. No one can give me the confidence I am lacking, that can only come from within. I just never had the tools available before. I’ve never had the desire or the know-how to progress past my self-loathing. I’ve never had someone in opposition to the voices in my head, someone that believed in me and loved me for who I am.

Until now. I called a therapist last night and things are about to change around here. Because I think I finally deserve it.