The Love Yourself Project: Entry #2




I'm a complainer. Not entirely, but there are always too many things that are wrong. I'm also into excuses. Reasons why things can't be accomplished. But that isn't what this entry is about. It's about delving into the reasons that I deem myself unworthy of love. Why don't I deserve that basic right?

When I was six years old, I learnt that affection could be a dangerous thing. That blurred lines could make you feel dirty, worthless and strange. I think that something changed that day. And throughout the years when things would happen, and men would creep into personal spaces, I memorized the patterns of emotion.
 I saved them and imprinted them on my heart. I never thought that I'd need to let those emotions go until I tried to truly love myself. I'm realizing now that in order to do that, I will have to wade through the musk of dirty hands and worthless feelings.

"You are not too emotional"
Your tears are too much. There was a woman that told me that I should stop mourning the loss of a friend. I took the words too literally, because I was too small to filter her frustration. I'm twenty-three now and I still feel guilty every time I cry. Every time I feel too much for a man. Every time envy enters my heart. I chide myself. I critique and destroy my heart for experiencing the things that it was made for. How dare it embrace emotion?

"I forgive you"
I need to forgive myself for the wrongs that I never committed. As a perfectionist, every day I pay the price for things that could have been done better. Things that should have been improved. Mistakes are not tolerated. When I was thirteen, I learnt that you could punish yourself with sharp objects. I offered mini sacrifices as a payment for my pain. But I'm human. And there were too many flaws. An ocean of errors formed scars deep and wide. Circular and straight. But they were never enough. Now I'm marred with physical memories of errors that I can never fix. I forgive myself, for etching those memories on skin. I didn't need the constant reminders.

"I wish that I was you"
She was always prettier. Her hair was straighter, longer. Her face was more symmetrical, rounder, longer, smoother. Her everything was always better. It drove me insane. Why could I not possibly figure out how to be exactly like her? She was perfection and I was a falling flower, drooping, dying, worthless. She always tried to help me. That quality only made me resent her. I'm still learning that I can never be her. I'll never get her body, or her eyebrows. I'm still learning that I don't need them. That I've been given all I need. That I've been given me.

"You left"
I still don't know how to process this part. You are still an unspoken word. Several relationships later and I still can't quite let it go. I don't think I'm even mad at you anymore. I'm too enraged at myself for being too damn crazy to keep you. I was sick, unmedicated. If only I was a little less stupid. A tad less dense. Maybe I would see that I shouldn't have said those words. I shouldn't have dangled other people in your face. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I shouldn't have called 143times. I shouldn't have been sick. And I refuse to blame serotonin and dopamine for this. I should have never gotten ill.

I could keep writing forever. The list goes on and on. I could lay in this puddle forever. I could swirl in the never ending flow of negative words that describe myself. I'm never going to just decide that they aren't true. But maybe I don't need to. Maybe to truly love myself, I need to love those parts too.
All of me.
I love them all.

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