As much as I have felt a varying sense of alienation and other-ness all my life, as much as I have longed to belong and be understood in all my unique hurt and fabulousness, I have this weird core belief that I know what people’s motivations are… Not just motivations, but intentions. On an average day, I busy myself with trying to discern other people’s thoughts and figure them out, decode them. I then convince myself I know what they think about stuff… about me. And a lot of the time, it’s what I probably have felt in the past in a similar situation. Or it’s how I would probably feel if faced with… well, me, in all my hurt and fabulousness.
But I’m wrong. Even if I’m partially right, I’m wrong. Because I can’t possibly know all the nuances of another person’s feelings or thoughts or experiences about the world or anything or anyone in it. I half the time (or maybe even most of the time) can’t even describe or decode my own thoughts and feelings about stuff. It’s so complex. Everything is so complex.
I love Diet Coke. And I hate it. I hate that I’m addicted to it. And yet, I feel like I deserve it. I’m worried it’s killing me. I’m also worried that they’ll stop making it some day and then what will I do? And that’s just soda. And that’s not even all the things I feel about it. It doesn’t even have calories, for fuck’s sake.
I am the worst kind of narcissist because I can’t stand myself half the time. I think I’m lacking in so many fundamental ways. But there’s still this voice in me, this thing that says there’s hope for me on the other side of whatever bullshit I’m going through at the moment… that someone may love me yet. I’m hoping that someone is me.
Nerdy Girl Hero 