my throat is itching and I haven't even written anything.... that's how much this stresses me out...
Last night, laying in bed, I was thinking about my life and I came to the sad and sorry realisation that I have spent most of my life (not that it's been all that long, only 29 years) hating myself. Now I'm not talking about the odd "fat day" here and there, the rogue pimple that makes you want to hide for days, the frizzy hair days that cause you to stand in the bathroom with a hair straightener and a bottle of vodka for 3 hours. I'm talking about full blown, burning, fuel filled self-loathing. A hatred and disgust and such soul deep repulsion that I have spent a great deal of time willfully desiring to destroy myself. Rip myself apart, hack and slash and tear away the pieces that displeased me (which was about 98% of my physical being).
It's not easy being plain, or unattractive, in a world that is so hyped up on beauty. EVERYTHING must be beautiful at all times... your home, your clothes, your accessories, your jewelry, your car, your partner, your children, everything. So when something as major and important as your own self is lacking in that department it can become distressing to see everything else around you as beautiful. It becomes habit that you start fearing how badly you taint the pretty pictures around you.
I have spent so much time running away from the beautiful things around me, afraid that my being there would end up being so obvious and so out of place. I have destroyed my relationship time and time again in fear that I would be "found out"; that people would notice how out of place I looked next to Mojo, how far from his norm I was. I was terrified that someone would point this out and that suddenly HE would notice and recoil from the repulsion of suddenly realising how awful I really was, and how bad I made him look.
I grew up being taught that women are objects of beauty, accessories to make their partners look good, and not much else. They were sex objects, used by men for their basic urges. Women were SUPPOSED to be beautiful at all times. They were not supposed to be ugly, or fat, or not blonde. So I grew up being the chubby, plain, brunette girl that was ashamed of everything I was and everything I was not. I haven't been able to let go of this 'truth'. As much as I logically tell myself that it cannot possibly be true society tells me every day that it is in fact, common knowledge and societal FACT that fat chicks = satan's idea of a joke.
Fat chicks are not Mojo's women of choice, I am in a unique position (I guess) in that during the 10-odd years that we've been "together" I have seen him flit from woman to woman all of the same cut... all tiny, all gorgeous, all kinky, goth, and the absolute polar opposite of me. This kind of information doesn't do well for a woman's self esteem.... okay probably not all women, just me, but whatever. Yes, he always comes back to me... and yes, perhaps these cookie cutter goth beauties are his "rebound type" but never in my life have I ever - EVER seen Mojo even smile at a fellow fatty. This poses an unusual conundrum for me.... am I just so amazingly and fantastically awesome that Mojo just cannot help himself when it comes to loving me. (this is, of course, the right answer) OR have I made life so comfortable for him that he can just laze about (slum it) with me until Something Stunning This Way Comes? Whence he sits bolt upright, takes notice and puts his groove on.
I know Mojo is a flirt, and a damn good one at that. It is one of the things that I love about him, funnily enough. I know he will flirt with almost any woman who happens to be in about a 10 mile radius, lol. The flirting doesn't actually worry me. Actually nothing HE does, per se, worries me. It wouldn't matter if I was in a relationship with Jesus himself, I would still fret about my existence in his life. Fear that my position will quickly be replaced by a pretty little thing who makes him look good.
Mojo once said to me that Guys want a girl that will make their mates jealous, and if Im being honest - my lasagna isn't THAT good.
I would hate for my daughter to be sitting at her computer in 20 years time writing something similar to this. I don't know how to instill a positive body image in her when I don't know what it means to have one myself. How do I teach her things that I don't know myself. How do I teach my son that all women are beautiful when the most important woman in his life doesn't think she is beautiful. It is frustrating and scary to think that I am bringing children up to love and respect people when I'm not sure I do a very good job of doing that very thing to my own self.
I try very hard to be cool with myself, but being critical and cruel and judgmental to the girl in the mirror has become second nature. Being horrible to myself is like breathing. I don't even realise I'm doing it unless I really concentrate on it. And even then, the messages are so deeply ingrained that I don't know how to counteract them. I don't actually know what it's like to be with a guy who LOVES my body just because of how it is. I have no idea what it would be like to be with a guy who wants to touch me everywhere (and not just on the girly bits) because he actually LIKED those parts of me. It is completely shallow and awful but there is a small part of me that would love to be with a guy who has a pure, unadulterated fetish for fat just to experience the sensation. Mojo can tell me he thinks I'm beautiful all he likes (I believe him on some level) I've never found him looking at BBW porn.
I'll quit moaning for now, because the kids are hungry and I need a coffee. I may or may not post more self loathing at another date...
Till next time
~Tempest
