Morning Thoughts Sunday, September 03, 2006 |
I live in this world where every being is created perfectly. Yes, I know, and I've heard it many times...nobody's perfect. The word does easily connote "flawlessness," but to me that isn't it at all. The way I see it, everyone has their flaws, but that's just part of what makes them perfect. To understand-- and not just see--the beauty created in and created by others is a gift that God has given me.
However, there is a catch. It's sort of how Saint Bernadette of Lourdes found this fountain that would cure everyone who was sick-- everyone except herself. Even as people commit mistakes, i think it wonderfully artistic, as if their mistakes are so essential to their identity, and it completely strikes me with awe. But when I look at myself in the mirror, all I can see is this dull creature, unprepossessing, in both body and soul. Why? I really don't know. I've tried exploring every corner of my brain, every memory that would come to me, to seek affirmation from people who've given it to me. But somehow, I can't bring myself to believe them. They are just words and gestures said and done to me for the sake of being said and done; they aren't truth.
My attempt in trying to uplift my self-esteem, has probably been, by far, the most difficult and unsuccessful (although i know most of you wont believe me) undertaking ever in my life. Every problem of mine that I can think of has something to do with my self-esteem (or the lack thereof)—from something as serious as wanting to spontaneously combust, to being afraid of saying “hello” because the other person might not remember me or say “hi” back, and then, feeling absolutely guilty because I ended up seeming like such a snob. You’d think after nineteen years of living in this skin-- this soul even--I’d be comfortable with it, but I’m not. I guess since I see everything as beautiful, there is this psychological need to find imperfection. And where else can I look but inside myself?
Gosh, I really like torturing myself, don’t I? I wish this was just one of those “Pity ME” or “Pa-humble effect” posts, but it’s not. It’s legitimate problem, that out loud or even in my head, I would never say I hate myself, although, in truth I have realized, I probably do.
However, there is a catch. It's sort of how Saint Bernadette of Lourdes found this fountain that would cure everyone who was sick-- everyone except herself. Even as people commit mistakes, i think it wonderfully artistic, as if their mistakes are so essential to their identity, and it completely strikes me with awe. But when I look at myself in the mirror, all I can see is this dull creature, unprepossessing, in both body and soul. Why? I really don't know. I've tried exploring every corner of my brain, every memory that would come to me, to seek affirmation from people who've given it to me. But somehow, I can't bring myself to believe them. They are just words and gestures said and done to me for the sake of being said and done; they aren't truth.
My attempt in trying to uplift my self-esteem, has probably been, by far, the most difficult and unsuccessful (although i know most of you wont believe me) undertaking ever in my life. Every problem of mine that I can think of has something to do with my self-esteem (or the lack thereof)—from something as serious as wanting to spontaneously combust, to being afraid of saying “hello” because the other person might not remember me or say “hi” back, and then, feeling absolutely guilty because I ended up seeming like such a snob. You’d think after nineteen years of living in this skin-- this soul even--I’d be comfortable with it, but I’m not. I guess since I see everything as beautiful, there is this psychological need to find imperfection. And where else can I look but inside myself?
Gosh, I really like torturing myself, don’t I? I wish this was just one of those “Pity ME” or “Pa-humble effect” posts, but it’s not. It’s legitimate problem, that out loud or even in my head, I would never say I hate myself, although, in truth I have realized, I probably do.