I have been struggling today with powerful feelings of inadequacy.
I’m 31 now. Reviewing most of my posts here, now set to private, I see that nothing really changes from year to year. They say that personality is set in by 30. So, will I forever now feel this stabbing, powerful sense of knowing, knowing to my core that I’m not good enough? Will I forever feel the desire to push others away, so they won’t find out how I really am. Knowing that every person that looks at me can tell, in some small, unconscious way. My manager, who is otherwise a very kind person, acts very awkward around me. I don’t really know what it is. Maybe she can tell I wear a hairpiece? Who knows. Wearing a hairpiece is better than revealing the thinning nothing that is my scalp hair. Nice and full at the back and bottom, of course. Of course.
You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t if you take the fake hair route. It seems the only thing that will make people happy is if you just have thick, lovely hair. Why wasn’t I just born with it? Why did I just insist on being born with shitty hair? Why don’t I just spend thousands of dollars on hair plugs or glue-in extensions? I’m a bad person because I won’t work with my existing hair anymore, just hide it. Not a real woman. But I’ve never been that, really. I have never identified with what I was supposed to be, and that’s why I have been punished.
I often fantasize about being homeless or being catatonic. Yes, I know it’s strange, it’s bad. But I do it because of the underlying fantasy of finally revealing how inadequate I am. To stop pretending I am a functioning, whole being and to just slip through the cracks. To no longer have expectations laid upon me. To sink to my lowest point, to just be left alone. Easier. No one to depend on me. No one to depend on – but that’s already the case. The world grinds you down and then people act surprised when you can’t take it. All that matters is the outward facade of pretending everything is fine.
I don’t understand people who pride themselves on being empathetic and kind. I used to see myself that way, but I know I’m not now. In real life I have met a few of the “everyone is beautiful, love everyone you meet” types and as much as I desperately wanted it they could not connect to me at all. They could not relate to me at all. I am a tumor on this world, a lump of pain and frustrated attempts to reach out to others. Judged not by the content of my heart (not that that’s worth much anymore) but by how bouncy my hair is, how nice my makeup is, how well spoken I am. That last one is hamstrung by my appearance; words curdle and die in my mouth when people look at me, perceive my low value appearance, and my inability to speak clearly and concisely tells them my mind is of low value as well. I will always be lesser to others and I begin to tire of holding myself up, asserting that I have value with or without the approval of others.
I will never make life, and that’s how it should be. As much as I have craved something, someone small to love thoroughly and unconditionally, I should not breed. How can I doom a child to be homely, large framed, thin haired, fat, incapable of connecting to others? The only way to connect to others is to play the game. To be a proper woman. But I can’t do it, I have been incompetent at that for all of my life.
The former couple I saw as close friends, as good as family, are on the verge of having their own child. I had a feeling, an instinct, a hunch, you name it, some years back, actually long before I stopped talking to them. I knew that they would keep their child away from me, or at the least minimize any contact I had with it. I knew it was some sort of instinct on their part, keep the kiddo away from the crazy weirdo lady. I do have grace. I do have understanding. Because I never voiced this. It’s not something they would admit to, or even consciously realize they thought. But parents are supposed to limit their children’s interactions to people who are well integrated into society, who belong. The unconscious disease response; keep away any who are ill or dangerous in even the slightest possible way far from your offspring.
It’s not fair. I know it’s not. I know that the only person I would ever harm is myself. But they don’t know that. It still hurts, and I know there’s nothing I can do about it. I have separated myself from the parents-to-be, I do not speak to them when they are around but go about my business as normal. They still come over to see my husband or our roommate. There’s nothing I can do about any of it. The damage is done to the “friendship,” though there never really was such a thing and thus nothing to really go back to. There wasn’t ever really anything there, a bond, a connection, in the first place. I deceived myself in my crushing need to feel close, to have a bond of warmth, of family, of unconditional love. I am not part of their family, not a friend as good as a sister, not someone they want to spend time with.
I want to fade away and disappear.