Tuesday, March 11, 2014


Despite my devout feminism and wholehearted endorsement of radical self-love, I find myself quite often feeling inadequate and inferior to many women. It makes me question my true drive for self-improvement. Do I want to get in better shape and go back to school and get a driver's license (something I've yet to do at 27) and stop eating junk food and strive to improve myself for me? Or do I want to do it in an attempt to keep up with the Joneses as it were? Do I love myself? Yes. But sometimes it feels very conditional, and I wish it didn't. I wish I didn't sometimes feel like my worth is determined by how close I am to being as good as another woman instead of how close I am to being the best version of myself that I can be.

My life feels boring sometimes. I have a husband and a cat and a job. And while those things are very instrumental in my happiness and day-to-day activities, I sometimes feel like I'm just an annoying thing, like a buzzing mosquito, that flies around the heads of those around me. They have other aspects of their lives to attend to and keep them busy. But I don't, and sometimes I don't know how to give people their space because I so desperately want them in my space. My social life is lacking at best, and I have little confidence in my creative outlets to the point that, while I enjoy them, they feel wasteful and foolish. No one will ever read what I write or enjoy my music or view my art. And I know I should do these things for me, but if I express myself because I want others to be able to relate but no one cares enough to relate, what's the point? I wouldn't cook a beautiful meal to feed 7 people, put out the place settings, light candles, create playlists, and decorate the kitchen for a dinner party if I wasn't expecting guests and only intended to reheat some days-old pizza for myself.

I don't feel suicidal by any means. I know I'm useful and important in many respects. But sometimes I feel like I'm useful in the same way any old cog in any old machine is useful. It's necessary for the continued function of the big picture, but it will ultimately one day wear out and be replaced and no one will be the wiser and eventually no one will even remember that it had even been replaced. I feel useful but in the most useless way, if that makes sense and doesn't just sound like some broody, attempted Bukowski-esque line (something something whiskey tits).

I'm just tired and sad and down, and so many things have got me here. Sometimes I miss things like cigarettes and excessive booze intake and self harm and Ativan and other self destructive things that I know better than in which to partake. Sometimes I just want to cry, and I do, and at least it's a healthy outlet. Sometimes I write in this shitty blog that no one reads, and again, it's a release that isn't physically inflicted upon myself, so it's okay.

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