In a brief conversation with a life-long friend (more like acquaintance, but I can’t call him a school mate because I’m not 65 yet), he asked if I’d always had self-esteem problems or if they’d started because of my relationship with Chris Brown. While attempting to explain my current and past experiences, I realized I’m a puzzle.
The top 10 quirks of being a perfectionist AND a survivor with PTSD, Body Dismorphic Disorder, and a decent amount of healing left to do:
1 – I want to kick therapy’s ass. I believe that I should be done by now, as I usually excel in everything that I do (or, at least, expect myself to).
2 – I can’t look at myself in the mirror without getting sucked into the vortex that is my face. So, to compensate this problem with the fact that I have to primp before work or social gatherings, I focus on one feature at a time. I know I have a great smile and pretty eyes, but my entire face is not attractive. There isn’t one feature that strikes me as completely horrid on its own, but I think the combination of ALL of my features is sub-par, and for that reason I believe I look like Shrek. Honestly, if you lined up every girl I went to high school with (all 1,000ish of us) from most attractive to least, I’d walk my ass to the very end of the line and park it, knowing that I’m the ugliest girl to ever have graduated from CHS.
Now, you can call bullshit on this if you want, but I’m telling you that my brain is currently wired to truly believe this. So even when I tell myself I’m being ridiculous (that I should be in the ‘average’ range or middle of the line), I talk myself back to the last spot, convinced that my eyes are crooked or my chin isn’t long enough. That my forehead sticks out like a caveman or that my cheeks are beginning to sag like jowls. Fucked. I know.
3 – Any and every man who I don’t know is a threat. He could hold the door open for 15 people at the gas station, and I could be the very last person in that line…but he’s targeting me and I’m on to his trickery. Mr. Gas Station isn’t so smart, you know? To think that I don’t realize he’s trying to make me believe he’s just a nice guy.
Let’s add another twist to spice it up: If he holds that door for one person, but doesn’t hold the door for me, it’s because I’m a fat, ugly pig. Mind blown, I know.
4 – If somebody doesn’t reciprocate a good deed that I’ve done, it’s not because they’re selfish but because I’m not deserving.
5 – If I’m ‘late’ to work (meaning I don’t get there at 6:30, 45 minutes before I actually have to be there) I panic in a way that ruins my day. I should have gotten up earlier or planned my outfit two days before…like that would actually help me get there any sooner.
6 – I cannot write to save my life. At some point every reader will tell me that I suck, that I’m not funny, and that my creative/omniscient posts are terrible.
7 – I tried strawberry jelly for the first time two weeks ago. I’d always assumed that I didn’t like it because I love grape, but on a ‘let’s get wild’ whim I decided to switch it up…and I enjoyed the change. But I won’t keep eating it regularly because I feel like I’m losing my identity in my jelly choices. What happens if I like strawberry more than grape? Does that mean that my whole life has been a lie? It’s just too much to handle, I tell you. Just too much.
8 – A former player in the Fina game recently told me that he saw a picture of Scarlett Johansson’s boobs…and I happen to have an identical set (minus a couple cup sizes). While most people would take this as a compliment, I found the picture online and analyzed her girls. Really, I looked for imperfections on a movie star’s boobs. Not because I wanted anything to be wrong with hers, but because I wanted to find weaknesses in mine. Let’s not forget that I have mirrors and take showers daily. I see my boobs every day. Why the hell did I need to look at hers? I’m just not sure how to answer that question.
9 – I’m turning into a hoarder. The closer to ‘okay’ I feel, the more trash I keep in my car. Why? Because the chaos is comforting. It’s a good thing I don’t like cats…a really, really good thing.
10 – Through all of this, I can laugh at my behavior and call it ridiculous, but I can’t quite bring myself to stop it.
So there you have it. A look inside the mind of a girl who doesn’t quite know who the hell she is, or why the hell she’s here. One that wants you to laugh at her quirks but avoid judging her for them. And one that believes that she’s just proven her #1 quirk/belief to be impossible.