This isn't a new story. The themes, the reasons... The only new bit is for me to write it out, for really anyone to read. I'm not writing what comes next for any amount of sympathy either. If after reading, you think it's a good idea to just "check in to see how I'm doing" you can kindly fuck off.
That being said- I'm about to write some fucked up shit about myself.
I often don't like myself. It's a thing. I can't tell you when it started either. The older I get, the less frequent. Still, it happens enough. "But Niki, you seem so happy all of the time? Content and what not". That's just as true. This is where things not being as easy as black and white comes into play. Layers, things being dynamic... and well, an ability honed early to fake the shit out of the bad days.
Anyway, I at least know I was young. Not too too young. My earliest days are ones I imagine in technicolor, and can hear the theme songs of my youth playing in the background- DJ'd by my amazing parents, of course. Maybe it's when I hit puberty, that absolute minefield most of us barely got out of alive. Well, whenever the hell it began, it's when I started to notice things. Don't get me wrong, during the technicolor years I wasn't necessarily naive. I knew I fit into the "other" category before all the big changes happened.
Then things came into focus. Those of you who wear glasses know what I mean. Between looking at the world without them, and then slipping your glasses up the bridge of your nose. That snap moment when your eyes adjust, and whoa. I realized all I was, and that knocked me for a six. I was a little colored queer girl, who people wouldn't like for all of the above.
I didn't grow up in the dark ages. Gay wasn't as taboo, but still. Being black wasn't like the age of Jim Crow, but come on. Women's lib had kicked into gear so long before, but fack. Different parts and people in the world were telling me I had things wrong with me. Things that made me a sinner, things that made me a second class citizen- even things that at one point were considered a mental illness. I internalized it. I chewed and swallowed the the lies, and vitriol.
I got it, and I still do- not everyone is going to like you. You can't control what people think and feel about you, you shouldn't care. Good on you to the people who can do that. I'm telling you, it chips away at you. One micro aggression after another. People who fit into any of the categories I listed above will get it- you never get to turn it off. So I started to genuinely dislike myself. Becoming resentful. My hair, my looks, who I fell for. I could hide aspects, absolutely. I could "technically pass" if I took certain measures, all the while compiling more and more reasons to dislike me.
This early dislike, this tearing myself up inside I think is 100% why I focus so much on my love life, and why it has been the sweeping ridiculous journey it's been.
All I've ever wanted was for someone to love me unconditionally.
I can say with absolute certainty I have never had that from a significant other.
I often can't see what other people do- an accomplished woman, beautiful, capable, strong, opinionated, nurturing, respectful, and loving. Turn it all on it's head- that's what I see. Failing, ugly, spineless, worthless, hateful, undeserving. It's that punch to the gut kind of a feeling again and again. The exotic bird who can't see the beauty in her feathers, just her difference.
Yea, yea I know the lines that come next, "No one can truly love you, until you love yourself" and every other similar and cliche line. Listen folks, I didn't say I disliked myself all the damn time. I am a woman who seems to have nothing but serious relationships- my pendulum is gonna swing when I'm with someone for years.
In finding people one after the other who needed fixing, needed me, deep down I hoped I would fix the bits within myself I didn't like. We all know how that ends. Badly. Over and over. I didn't have to concentrate on me- my flaws, my shortcomings. The moments when my confidence was shattered, and all I wanted was to be rescued- these people were ill equipped to reciprocate. To give as I gave. They never expected to have to lift me the way I lifted them. I'd fooled them, just as much as I fooled myself on the faking it days. If I didn't think I was deserving, it wasn't going to work.
I'm told to concentrate on the rest- how much I've achieved, where I've been, what I've seen. How people see me, what kind of impact I've had. That's all well, and good. I know what I want. To be loved as me- all of me. Especially during the bad spells. Especially when I don't even begin to like myself.
The rest won't matter whenever I die. How hard I worked, how much shit I bought. I've never been known for being particularly materialistic. Love is the thing, you know. I want love.
Back to this not being a new theme- who doesn't want love? It's why I've settled though. For less. Why I haven't met them yet. Why on the nights when I'm alone, the demons I've described try to knock on my door. They don't always make it through, but often enough. To love as I have in my dreams, to not be left to envy those who don't appreciate what it is they have when they've found someone to share their life with.
I often times don't like myself. I've got a bit more time to chew on that.
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