The one between my knowledge of my amazing abilities and my self-worth.
It’s beginning to crack. If I build myself up enough, usually by writing it here, I can enjoy some time in which I think I am freaking awesome.
And I am. Objectively speaking. Never had to learn to study, super talented, etc.
But the moment passes and I lapse back into my default of not actively hating myself or wishing to harm myself out of sheer self-loathing and frustration.
And it’s taken me decades of therapy, both the traditional and the journaling kind, to reach this state of détente with my inner demons.
So why the firewall?
Let’s start at the core. Deep down, low self esteem is a feeling. A dark and terrible feeling, a mixture of pain, fear, and doubt that expresses itself on the surface as a deep inner hostility towards anything being good about yourself, reality be damned.
Hence impostor syndrome. If there is objective evidence of your worthiness but you are plagued by that feeling that corrodes all self-worth almost instantly in order to maintain the (horrible) status quo and “stability”, the only possible solution is that you have somehow faked it all and fooled people into thinking you are good when you are crap.
There are people with gold fucking medals who feel this way,
Not me, though. I don’t have impostor syndrome.
You need to have accomplishments for that.
But I get it. Here I am, brain the size of a planet, talent coming out of both wazoos, charisma, etc. and somehow, most of the time, that does not prevent me from feeling like I am worthless and horrible and toxic and bad.
And like with impostor syndrome, my guardians of the status quo are always ready to somehow negate anything I might come up with to argue against its self-hate.
Like how for decades I could not bring up my high IQ without saying “fat lot of good it did me” or “that just meant I was bored all the time at school”.
Like that negated it somehow. Oh, that didn’t count.
Funny how when you dismiss any and all evidence of something, it somehow seems like it doesn’t exist.
And when I try to understand why it is so hard for me to esteem myself, all I get is that cocktail of dark emotions.
Fear is definitely the strongest one. I think that on a deep level, I fear that “giving in” to higher self esteem will somehow set me up for a fall,. Or attract misfortune somehow.
Like somewhere there is an authority figure waiting to strike me down if I should ever dare to stand up.
I suppose a childhood in which I tried my best not to exist set me up for THAT. Being noticed was actually a bad thing in many ways. The only way to be safe is to blend in with the wallpaper. Don’t remind people you exist. Hope they forget you.
And they did. Because that’s what they wanted anyway, and I knew that.
I think I feared triggering my brother’s jealousy, too. That is an emotion I am simply not capable of handling, and seeing as Dave was in many ways a father figure to me, his anger and disapproval meant a lot to me.
But it’s safe now. There’s nobody to chuck thunderbolts at me if I dare to lift me head up and actually enjoy a positive self-image for a while.
You hear that, deeper self? ALL CLEAR.
More after the break.
This is so gloriously fucked up that I had to share it.
WARNING : I like disturbing things. And I like this a LOT.
An important update
Joe is fine.
It was just a cyst, and the headaches he was experience were unrelated.
Thank goodness. I was so worried. I think I was experiencing hypochondria by proxy.
And I am a little ashamed to admit it, but I am really glad that someone who is not me ended up going to the ER for what turned out to be nothing.
And not just anyone. It was Joe, a levelheaded, sensible guy.
Makes me feel a lot less fragile and flighty about my “dry runs”.
It’s just too bad that he had to be there like seven hours in order to find that out. I guess “I have this weird lump on my head” does not get a high triage score.
I can relate. That’s happened to me so often that I have made it a policy to tell myself over and over that things will be so much better once I am admitted.
That makes the waiting more bearable.
And they will be. Once I am admitted and have a bed and there are nurses on call if I need anything. I can relax and let my mind drift into “hospital mode”.
Like I have said before, “hospital mode” is a state close to sleep but with me staying awake enough to respond when someone needs me to.
Like when they are hooking up an IV, or need to draw some blood, or a handsome doctor is so taken with my wit and my adorable personality that he just has to take me there right in the ward.
Hey, it could happen!
And I would know he was “the one” if he actually genuinely LOLs when the nurse acts me if she can take my pulse and I say, “Only if you promise to give it back after!”.
Literally nobody has ever laughed at that. My best response has been a tight lipped and wearily indulgent smile.
Well I think it’s funny.
Oh and get this : I finally got my Pay Power account back today. Julian was nice enough to go out to buy me a new card at long last.
Only to find out our usual places have STOPPED SELLING THEM.
What the everlasting fuck, life?
Ergo I am still cardless. I am going to look up other locations that sell them in Richmond, and they apparently have competition now from a brand of prepaid cards called Joker (all together now : “Now there’s a name that inspires confidence!”), so I might end up taking my business to them.
But man, why does life have to fuck with me like this?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.