Yourself First. Me Second.

I’m in love with a girl. She loves me too but doesn’t love herself, so I can’t be with her. You have to love yourself first, is what I’ve been told. I used to feel that loving yourself second didn’t seem so bad. When I was in school they told me that it didn’t matter if you came in first or second or if you even placed at all, as long as you tried your best. I think they mostly said that kind of thing to kids like me who didn’t ever place in anything and likely never would. To the kids that did come in first and second, they probably said things like “good job” and “way to go.”

I came from a small town, north of Toronto. Growing up I felt the crushing boredom, and feelings of anxiety and depression that came from living in a small town where nobody ever did anything of much importance. So, as soon as I could, I got out of there and moved to Toronto where I felt the crushing boredom, and feelings of anxiety and depression that came from living in a big city where the pace was too fast, nobody looked anybody in the eye, and you were one of millions. I finally exited my “teen angst” phase and entered into the next phase of life: “adult angst”. I realized for the first time that it wasn’t my circumstances that made me unhappy. It was my own brain and that it would follow me to wherever I moved, (unless I were to get some sort of surgery to remove it.) My doctor said I might have seasonal depression, which must mean that I’m depressed any time it’s a season, since I generally feel pretty down most of the year. She recommended a SAD lamp, which is a pretty humiliating name to give a lamp that is for people with depression. As if they aren’t already embarrassed enough to be purchasing it. You’re supposed to sit in front of it for twenty minutes every morning while it shines in your eyes. I feel like a fucking moth when I sit in front of it. I don’t know if it works, but I have chewed a lot more holes in my sweaters.
 
 So, there I was, still as fucked up as ever, but in Toronto; a city full of people with nice fitting pants, good hair, and food intolerances. (I remember when I was a kid there were no food intolerances. Some kids just shit a little more often than other kids. I’m not saying that I don’t believe in food intolerances, I just think they’re a little exaggerated. For example, I can’t eat an entire cheesecake and then say I’m lactose intolerant if my stomach hurts. I’m not. I just have poor fucking self-control.)

I’ve never had anything good in my life that came easy. Anything worthwhile has always taken work and sometimes suffering. How else do you know something is worthwhile if you don’t suffer for it? How else do you appreciate it? Those are rhetorical questions. I hate rhetorical questions. Nobody should ask rhetorical questions. Rhetorical questions are for assholes and they’re kind of condescending. Make affirmative statements. Don’t hide your intellectual insecurity behind rhetoric. And if you’re unsure of something, then ask REAL questions. Not fucking rhetorical ones.

Like, is it possible to feel happy? This is a real question and the answer is “yes”. Not happy all the time, but it is possible at the best of times. I’ve been in Toronto 6 years now. I don’t always love myself, but more often than ever, I find that I “like” myself and that feels like happiness. (Or something close to it). I had to work really hard to feel like this. I had to suffer.

I love a girl who doesn’t love herself, so I can’t be with her. I know she deserves to at least “like” herself because I’ve felt what she feels. Or something like it. Not having her is hard, but nothing good ever did come easy. But, when she loves herself first, then she can love me second and it’ll be the first time I’ve ever placed in anything and somebody will say “way to go” to me or maybe “good job.”