This post is part of my 30 Days of Truth Journey. You can learn more about that madness here.
To be perfectly honest, this day, "Something you hate about yourself," was one of my major deterrents to this project. How can someone like me ever hope to tackle such a subject.
I thought about it all last night. In one self-pitying fit of desperation, I thought, "I'll write about how I hate that I hate everything about myself." It was borderline pathetic.
Since then, I've calmed a little. Taken off the panic dance outfit I was sporting earlier. I don't hate everything about myself. I kinda like myself. I try not to tell people that, because, well, you know. I'm a lady or something, but truly I think I'm a pretty cool chick. I even like my faults for the most part. They are the kind of faults I can live with. I don't like how down I've been lately. Down enough to consider maybe seeing someone. In the profession. I don't like how quick tempered I get when I'm tired. I don't like my tendency to blow off things that are important and totally panic about things that are stupid.
But I don't hate any of those things. And, I know, I can work on them. I can seek help or zero in on what's making me unhappy and change it. I can work on my temper. Take more deep breaths. I can better prioritize my life. If any of those things bothered me enough, I would work on them and I would change them. They are things that I can live with.
What I hate, what I truly hate is my appearance. I hate my weight, my pointy nose, my hair, my clothes, my apathy that I fight and can't seem to change, my pale skin (which when paired with my black hair and even a smidge of make-up makes me look like I could audition to play a Cullen - if there were fat Cullens).
And I hate to talk about it, because people chime in to tell me how pretty I am and I always, always assume they are lying. I am almost never seeking that kind of praise and it frankly makes me uncomfortable.
And for the most part, that does not bother me. I don't think too much about my appearance. I am not affected by my self-hatred when it comes to appearance, because I honestly don't see myself as a person for whom looks matter. Let me put it this way, in the great movie of life, I will never be Meg Ryan, Katherine Heigl or Penelope Cruz. I am Kathy Bates. And you know what, I freakin' love Kathy Bates. Who wants to be the stupid simpering romantic lead when you can be Kathy Bates? Who wants all the crap of being the center when you can be the one with a funny joke and a bottle of wine? I bet at some point in time every tall, leggy blonde to ever grace the silver screen has thought, "Damn. Why couldn't I play the funny best friend?" Because that's always the better role.
But it's tiring sometimes, too. It's tiring never having the right thing to wear, never knowing what to do with your hair and knowing that by and large it truly doesn't matter. There are times when it is all I can think about, all I can concentrate on, all I can focus my attention on. There are times when it leads me down a sucking vortex of self-pity, anguish and misery. There are times when I hate how I look so much that I think, for just a second that I hate myself.
Gah! That was miserable. I hope the next one is easier. Better. Something.