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Sep. 4th, 2009 09:30 amI'm a silly cow. I started crying last night, not because I was miserable, exactly the opposite. You see, I realised the enormity of how I've been feeling - after a horrible blip last weekend, I figured out that I don't hate myself anymore. More to the point, I don't believe I'm ugly anymore. The realisation of this, sort of... well, it floored me. It feels like ever since I knew what "ugly" meant, I thought I was it.
And yes, it's true that when I was a teenager I didn't have a clue how to dress nicely. I didn't want to, though. I felt ugly and shapeless and tended to wear sack-like t-shirts and as much black as possible. Not in a goth sense, that'd have been fine, but because I wanted to hide. Plus there was the relentless bullying, which would make anyone feel ugly. Sadly, far too many friends know exactly how that feels, which is sad.
I had a very bizarre relationship with my body, in that I didn't really have a relationship. It wasn't anything but this lump, and not even a pretty one at that, how rude. It's hard to say exactly what changed, but something did. Somehow I worked out that I'd be a bit scuppered without the lump of meat, and it was the only lump of meat I was getting, so maybe I better be nicer to it. Turns out all those cliches are true - if you're nicer to yourself, you begin to believe you're entitled to be nicer to yourself. So the loathing lets up.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not perfect or anything. Now, though, I can look in a mirror and think "I look nice". I'm still overweight (though still working on that), there will still be days when I look like shit and have terrible hair and all the rest, I'm never going to be a model or anything like that. That's okay, though. It's finally okay for me to be like this. Hell, there are even parts of my body I could say I like if asked (though I'm still afraid of looking arrogant so I'm not going to say what they are here!).
The thing is, and it's cliche time again, a body does some pretty amazing stuff. Okay yes there are six billion more of them out there and they all do stuff, but this one experiences joy and excitement and satisfaction and ahem, things, and I should be grateful: I'm one of the lucky ones with all five senses intact, one of the lucky ones who can get up and run around (well, walk around at any rate), and it really isn't just about what I look like. That's secondary to the fact that the lump of meat isn't just a lump of meat: it's a functional one. And six billion others or not, it's still pretty fuckin' awesome.
It's still nice to look nice, though. And a relief not to hate myself from dawn til dusk. I still worry that this sounds incredibly arrogant and that I have disappeared up me own hole, but... I'm a bit overwhelmed and that's when I share.
Thank you to those who helped me get to this point.
And yes, it's true that when I was a teenager I didn't have a clue how to dress nicely. I didn't want to, though. I felt ugly and shapeless and tended to wear sack-like t-shirts and as much black as possible. Not in a goth sense, that'd have been fine, but because I wanted to hide. Plus there was the relentless bullying, which would make anyone feel ugly. Sadly, far too many friends know exactly how that feels, which is sad.
I had a very bizarre relationship with my body, in that I didn't really have a relationship. It wasn't anything but this lump, and not even a pretty one at that, how rude. It's hard to say exactly what changed, but something did. Somehow I worked out that I'd be a bit scuppered without the lump of meat, and it was the only lump of meat I was getting, so maybe I better be nicer to it. Turns out all those cliches are true - if you're nicer to yourself, you begin to believe you're entitled to be nicer to yourself. So the loathing lets up.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not perfect or anything. Now, though, I can look in a mirror and think "I look nice". I'm still overweight (though still working on that), there will still be days when I look like shit and have terrible hair and all the rest, I'm never going to be a model or anything like that. That's okay, though. It's finally okay for me to be like this. Hell, there are even parts of my body I could say I like if asked (though I'm still afraid of looking arrogant so I'm not going to say what they are here!).
The thing is, and it's cliche time again, a body does some pretty amazing stuff. Okay yes there are six billion more of them out there and they all do stuff, but this one experiences joy and excitement and satisfaction and ahem, things, and I should be grateful: I'm one of the lucky ones with all five senses intact, one of the lucky ones who can get up and run around (well, walk around at any rate), and it really isn't just about what I look like. That's secondary to the fact that the lump of meat isn't just a lump of meat: it's a functional one. And six billion others or not, it's still pretty fuckin' awesome.
It's still nice to look nice, though. And a relief not to hate myself from dawn til dusk. I still worry that this sounds incredibly arrogant and that I have disappeared up me own hole, but... I'm a bit overwhelmed and that's when I share.
Thank you to those who helped me get to this point.
