My Abusive Relationship With Myself
TW: This text has explicit mentions or metaphors to self-harm, psychological abuse, suicide, depression and anxiety.
There are many stories out there about the hardships of living with abusive people — they will make you question every single aspect of your being just to keep things under a certain control. But this piece is not about such stories, at least not in the expected way; the epiphany came like a punch to my face, that maybe all my self-loathing and obsessions could be in fact abusive traits — honestly, I always knew, I think I just accepted it somehow. But what happens when you are your own abusive partner? What is there to control in such a case?
First of all this subject is extremely hard for me to talk about. Even with my closest friends I do not go too deep because it won’t take too long before I start to feel increasingly uncomfortable about opening such a deep part of myself which wraps so many of my flaws. I will refer to my intrusive thoughts on this matter simply as “the ghosts” from now on. It may come whenever I’m talking about my self-esteem issues, where amidst my friends trying to help by either offering their heartfelt insights or by trying to prove me wrong, the ghosts will just whisper that everything they say is out of pity, that deep down everyone agrees with me that I am in fact ugly and somewhat incapable of doing what everyone — even other ugly people — is capable of.
Incapable of what, by the way? Of loving, being loved, accepting the feelings of others without an obsessive skepticism, of not giving way too many fucks about looks and presentations. Incapable of being myself.
It always comes to my mind that I’m not worth any effort. I’m difficult to deal with. I’m way too passive, airheaded, overly sensitive, stubborn, introspective. I know how to be flirty but when things take a serious turn I’m too afraid to keep going. “Do you actually deserve it?” the ghosts ask — Do I really deserve it? I ask myself — . The (somewhat) meme song “What is love?” comes with a question in its title that I honestly don’t, and never knew how to answer, though I know the answer, all I see is a thick fog in front. After all, I’m ugly and fat and have all those problems, there are plenty of fish in the ocean, why would someone pick me? It doesn’t take too long to find another person who’s more attractive and down to earth. This sounds awfully like some weird incel drama, right? Or is this what the ghosts are trying to make me think? To discourage myself from writing more? I don’t know. I’m scared shitless of (actual) sex anyway, although I love to talk and think about it.
I’ve heard and read countless times that appearances are not everything, and yes, I do know I’m not a bad person by any means, but it’s hard to think straigth when I’ve been locked alone in a palace inside myself for so long — surrounded by ghosts.
It’s just that…sometimes I wish I was born as a cute girl, I’d look different. Or as that attractive guy who just entered the subway wagon. Or as that cute androginous person who looks neither like a boy nor a girl (anyone who reads my tweets knows I talk about these things every now and then). Their significant others might be just as cool looking! Sometimes that’s not the case, so they might be cheating, going against the rules, or they just have something I’m lacking. Maybe the hairstyles (I can’t style mine, it falls too much, I might go bald before my 30s), maybe the thin or muscular or chubby figures with nice faces, maybe the hard earned skills and talents, maybe confidence. I’m always obsessively comparing myself to others, because the ghosts want myself to be that way, but I just can’t. I was born like this. So maybe I don’t deserve anyone but myself. Maybe I’ll just die like this. Also, my hands are always shaking whenever I do several tasks because genetics thought it would be fun this way (for god’s sake it’s not Parkinson) and it gets way worse with anxiety.
Sometimes I would go against all of this and stand up against the ghosts. Some things I never thought could happen, then happened those times. Some walls did crumble when I kissed for the first time in 23 years, but it’s no one’s responsibility to break down the countless others, and that’s what I call too much effort. It’s a herculean task to not cling too much on anyone who shows me real signs that I’m not the Lovecraftian monster I’ve made myself to be in my mind. Falling in love is to me a concept close to hell on earth. I can’t conceive why or how that person is doing things for me, which might make me retreat and try to change their minds. Would loving someone and accepting love mean leaving the ghosts behind? Many of them at least? I don’t know, comparing myself to all friends and many passerby and feeling smaller and smaller each time. Loving someone could mean having to deal with them leaving my life because I’m just too much, or any other thing going wrong, or finding someone who’s more…well, I’m not gonna repeat myself here. I’m not prepared for any of those events and just thinking about any of them actually happening sends more than shivers down my spine — brutal, sheer anxiety.
But I’m well aware how much the ghosts control my self-care, my mental health, my personality, every aspect of my being, everything to leave me in submerged in self-pity, self-loathing, in a disgusting state with nowhere to run — the worse I feel, the less I want someone by my side, because some part of me makes me want to suffer. Actually, let’s drop it off, there’s no such a thing as ghosts inside my head, it’s just me. It’s an abusive relationship with myself.
I’m too scared of many things, self-harm included, which led me to find a friend in sugar, which then led to sugar cravings so bad my anxiety would only get better after eating a slice of cake, or a chocolate, anything with sugar in it for the pleasure of eating. It helps. It also contributed a lot to my weight. Which also makes things a bit worse, one really nasty While(true) kind of situtation.
When I do hit rock bottom things get a bit uglier…I can’t even touch people or let myself be touched — commute to work becomes a nightmare. Looking at mirrors or reflections makes me want to punch that surface until it’s smashed to pieces, my hands included. Looking at my body before a bath and wanting to cut off everything I dislike — everything. And all I can think of is: “I’m sorry”. I don’t even know what I might be sorry for, I just felt something wrong — something I said? About how bad I’m looking? About how quiet I am in this party full of people I love? About loving you? — and that something is my fault. I won’t communicate or look at others properly. I will literally shut myself in a bubble. It’s kind of a boss battle that may take a few days or a week to end with no contest.
You might be thinking “Wow you need some therapy”, and yes, I do need, I just wasn’t ready to talk about so many things — many not included here. Maybe this text was a good start. But why is it easier to open myself to a bunch of strangers on the internet than to a professional? Figures.
I leave this without any conclusion, or life lessons, or how to get over such problems and obsessions. I’m still locked here in this hollow palace after all. Still stuck with myself. Maybe I’ll give such advices in a few years. For now I only have those raw, ugly words to share. I’m sorry. Despite all this, I’m still functional: studying, working, living each day trying not to get lost in expectations, trying to find my place.
Disclaimer: the whole “ghosts” metaphor was kinda inspired in a song by a group called Japan. They are good.
Disclaimer 2: several references throughout the texts come from the game Persona 5. It’s very important to me.
