I love you, me

What kind of view do you have of yourself? What perspective do you see yourself from?

Me? I have a warped self view. I know this for a fact. In my eyes, I am never good enough, never interesting enough, never fun enough, never intelligent enough for you. I don’t believe I’m good at the things I’m good at – I believe they are some kind of random fluke where I have random spurts of genius that can never be replicated – and those are the particular moments that are seen by people. And that’s just talking about the vague parts of my insides. I also don’t dress cool enough, don’t wear my hair right, don’t do my make up right, don’t have the right body type… I’m just not good enough.

Perhaps it’s my perfectionism. I want to be perfect, I want to be the best ‘me’, but it’s exhausting living up to my own high standards. To put it plainly, it’s pretty much just impossible.

My problem is; this won’t go away. How do you change your self perception? At 27 years old, is it too late? Has my self awareness pattern reached the point of no return? I’m not saying I’m not confident – I am confident, I’m outspoken, I know what I think and what I feel, and I’m happy to tell people about it – but always underneath I have a complete lack of confidence in who I am.

I'm keeping my eyes and ears open for some kind of inspiration for change.

three

tired
scared
no reason to be scared
does that mean anxious?
okay, anxious.
Anxious about my anxiety
wanting the next time
i see him
to be now.
Breathing
Wondering if i should call now
Waiting
Next time
the phone rings
could be him.
Hope lights up
I can breathe for a second
Wait for the shout
It's him
I can feel it
No call,
No him.
Just me and an empty tomorrow.

two

I nodded in agreement and finished the awkward conversation with all my focus on my thumping heart and my reddening face. On my way out of his eyeline I tried to concentrate on not tripping over my own feet and looking calm, just look relaxed, look like he hadn’t changed my world with one sentence. When I finally turned the corner and found a bench, I sat. I ran lines of a prayer over and over in my head like a rosary prayer. Please God give me strength and understanding and power to change my feelings. Please God help me control my feelings and these thoughts and my mind. The whole reason I was here was because of him, the whole reason I exist is because of him. I felt so powerless. My breath felt heavy, my mind a foggy blur. Now I was on my own, I had to figure out some way of getting through the day. If I got through the day I would be able to get through the night and then surely at some point it would be easier. As soon as I had reassured myself I would be okay, I remembered his words and felt the sudden urge to heave – heave and scream and cry tears that couldn’t come because I didn’t want him to be near me when it started. The heat was suddenly so oppressing and I had to get in somewhere, had to find somewhere that would let me sit without judging me, without eyes staring at the white girl, without feeling so hopelessly alone.

one

I stepped forward onto the foggy street. It was not foggy in the English way – cold, damp seeping through my clothes and onto my skin and further into my bones. The mist was warm, hot and tasted delicious. Like if I tried hard enough I could open my mouth and the air would taste sweet, easing down my throat to warm me from the inside.

I did not need to be warmed. I raised my hand to wipe the slight moist from my upper lip – any attempt at cosmetics would no longer be made; the foggy city had quickly taught me that any attempt for vanity would sweat away.

The street was full of people. People who had something to do but were in no particular rush to get there and do it. A man crossed in front of me, attempting not to stare at the tall white, leggy woman who so obviously did not belong there. Another lesson stored earnestly in my mind: the innocent dress bought in the comfort of an air-conditioned mall did not translate well onto the concrete men-filled streets here.