Introspection

When I opened my notepad, I didn’t do so with a specific topic in mind which is unusual for me. I sat here staring at a blank page for perhaps five minutes before I started thinking about all the things that I hate about myself, which, unfortunately, is not at all unusual for me. You see, most of the time I find quite a lot to hate; so much so that it often drowns out the good so that the hate is all that I hear.
I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. I’ve gained more than 100 lbs since I got married 11 1/2 years ago when I was already very much overweight. After I took a shower this evening, I paused to examine myself. I was still able to trace the slight outline of a more or less v-shaped torso and rounded biceps of the young man who took some pride in his appearance enough to lift weights occasionally. My shoulders are broad, but are always drooped by the extra weight I carry, both physically and emotionally. Beyond that, is skin folds and pannus.
I see myself as weak, of lacking any sort of strong moral character. I become easily addicted; I’ve smoked now for more than half my life, my relationship to food has never been healthy, and I am addicted to seeking validation from people who have shown they are unwilling to do so while ignoring those people who are shouting encouragement.
You see, my mind is in constant argument with itself over my value. The most vociferous voice screams at the top of its lungs that I’m fat and unloveable and stupid and lazy and worthless and invisible and unattractive and why would anyone what to fuck me anyway?! The other voice is small and shy and occasionally mutters something inaudible about how, if I look hard enough, I might possibly find something worthwhile.
I’ve decided that I’m going to try to give vent to that still, small voice. I’m going to dig and try to find something nice to say about myself. This is a herculean task for me, and I’d like for you not to read the rest of this as somehow patting myself on the back. It’s hard for me to talk positively about myself without lacing it a great deal with self-deprecation. But this is my effort.
I’m intelligent. I have always had an ability to retain information. School came easily to me, and I was able to do well with very little effort. More recently, I have found an even greater ability to parse information to discern its significance. This has made me very good at being a nurse.
I’m funny. My dad, from my earliest memories, has always been the most sarcastic person I’ve ever met. Every situation warranted a wry comment, and he was always been quick to deliver. I inherited a lot of this from him. It served me well when I was young. As the fat kid, you either laughed at yourself or you cried, and laughing was a lot more fun. As I got older, I devoured as much stand-up comedy as I could. I was raised on Bill Cosby’s Himself, as well as Bill Hicks, George Carlin, Richard Pryor and Steve Martin. I watched every stand-up special that HBO, and later, Comedy Central, aired. I discovered Patton Oswalt, Dana Gould, Janine Garofolo, and even the Amazing Jonathan, and through them I learned how to tell a joke. I learned that a joke had an anatomy of its own, and I spent thousands of hours dissecting it through them.
I’m a good friend. This one is hard for me, because I don’t feel like it’s always true. I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years to inattention, but I think that happens to everyone. The important thing is that, if you are my friend, you have my attention. You feel valued. I know how to listen and be supportive without judgement. I love easily and am willing to give my all to a friend regardless of how many times I’m hurt. I’m a good friend, because if it’s in my power, if you are my friend I will never allow you to feel invisible or let the voice screaming in your head that you are worthless to win the day, because I know all too well what it means to feel invisible and I know all too well what persistent bastards those voices can be.