The Annals of Personal War

“Just because I'm practicing self-acceptance and awareness doesn't mean I'm not going to disappoint or underwhelm others.”

~Me, about 90 minutes ago

He’s running around like gangbusters: exercising, cleaning, waving his invisible pom-poms declaring this to be the Year of the Clean House, Toned Body, Professional Success, ALL THE AMAZING THINGS. I, in turn, have forsaken resolutions and Googled: it’s The Year of the Monkey, or soon will be. It’s also Leap Year.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a shower.”

~Me, about 60 minutes ago

Along with an almost-topless Kathy Griffin and a pajama-clad viewing of Stripes, New Year’s Eve arrived with a head cold. Due to my aggressive own-worst-enemy immune system, I rarely catch normal illnesses. I awake with a distorted face or unbending joints, not with a sore throat or swimming shooter marble eyes. As professional and school life don’t return until Monday, I’ve been contenting myself with books and social media but the distain is strong in that one. Washing my body and changing into actual clothing seemed a manageable plan and antipathy mollifier.

“I did tell myself I would write every day.”

~Me, about 30 minutes ago

Writing is not a resolution; it’s a mandatory soul-maintaining exercise. I just forget this at times and have to remind myself. No, my drenched cotton ball brain is not at its sharpest; but if I keep my head very still to avoid bone to grey matter collision, I can transfer a few cogent thoughts to virtual paper.

I’ll keep this short and bitter:

I am always going to fall short in someone’s eyes. I will let down, not perform to expectations, disenchant, etc, etc, etc, Yul Brynner. Of this, I am certain. The puzzle for me to solve is how not to let this be my mirror.

If my mother labels me a monster and the worst disappointment of her life, I will not let her words define me, despite the wounds and scars still very evident from their expression. If my husband’s eyes scream discontentment, I will not use that as an excuse to become dissatisfied with myself, even though I am. If my relatives/friends/clients/coworkers find me lacking, all I can do is strive to be all who I can be, albeit without joining the Army and jumping from airplanes.

If I cannot defeat this rampant insecurity, it will defeat me and I cannot let that happen. It’s Leap Year after all. February 29th marks the anniversary of my Lynda-labeled “suicide trick”. I fucked it up the last time. I won’t repeat that mistake again.