I use humor to mask every insecurity, I can never really take myself seriously.
Mirrors are my biggest enemy, pictures magnify how I see myself mentally.
I’ve convinced myself I am flawed in every single way, my flaws constantly reminding me they are here to stay.
“Can everyone else see everything I hate about me? And if they can, to what degree?”
I find myself trapped in a world where I am both the victim and the assailant, creating an endless cycle of psychological ailment.
Through the process of growing older, little me forgot what I always told her:
“One day you’ll be bigger than your pain and whoever you choose to be, you will never ever have to explain…” But explain is all I do and my pain just seems to consistently accrue.
I've built a habit of looking for my worth in the eyes of those around me, deciding if they don't like me I must not be worthy.
And I wonder:
Why do I choose to make myself feel so small? In the process, building wall after wall convincing myself this is self-preservation protocol.
I layer each brick, molded with words of self-hate, convincing myself no one on earth could possibly understand or relate.
I hide behind my phone screen posting “self-love” quotes on my story, in hopes my inner turmoil will remain unseen while every self loathing thought I have is added to my inventory.
I continue to tell myself the world hates me and no matter how much I try I will never be beautiful, worthy or break free from this self-inflicted series where I hate me.
From a cognitive perspective I know I am sacred but my emotional state keeps screaming “HATRED!”
So I’ll keep laughing at my flaws hoping my pain will be drowned out by fictitious applause. But, please, don’t offer me your pity or shower me with compliments of “but you’re SO smart and pretty!”
Please don’t cringe when I blurt out a victimizing joke, just know sometimes it’s simply how I cope. And if you ever wonder if I’m OK, the answer is usually “nope”
But this doesn’t mean I have no hope…
If there is anything life has taught me is that my insecurities do not have to define who I choose to be and who I choose to be is not defined by what you think of me.
I know some of you can relate to this silly poem of “self-hate” and most of us have decided this is simply just our fate; We hate who we are and we are who we hate...
This last year I’ve cried and screamed, angry because this is not the future me little Celena dreamed. But through my inner turmoil I’ve realized one simple truth: We are far bigger than our pain and just as worthy as we were in our youth.
So I end with this:
Let’s not give our self-hate the infinite power to define our fate and take some time to recreate the version of ourselves little us believed we could be… because the purest form of truth is what a child can see.
So next time you speak words of self-hate, take a deep breath, close your eyes and concentrate...
“You are brave. You are capable. You are powerful. You are beautiful” absorb these truths as absolute and irrefutable ❤️.
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