Cracked Porcelain

Sometimes I think I could be like fine china, prized and cherished, adored by those who have me, desired by those who don't.

Right now, I feel like a dirty toilet bowl.

I'm insecure. I'm so insecure, but I'm good at hiding it, so good, that people often think I'm conceited. I'm not. I swear. I just have to verbally affirm, from time to time, that I am actually good enough. That I am pretty. That I am interesting. That I am likeable. Because if I don't say it, out loud, so that I can hear it, then I begin to forget. I have to continuously convince myself that I am of value, that I am something people actually want in their lives.

It's frightening, though, when even this doesn't work. When my past comes back to haunt me, when my mind is so sure that I have reverted to the fat, ugly, disgusting self that I was. Even worse, however, is when I'm so lost in this spiral that I'm sure the only reason anyone finds value in me now is because I am slightly prettier, slightly thinner, and thus, slightly more desirable. In those moments, nothing stops me from believing that without this image, I could easily be thrown aside like an unwanted china doll.

I hate myself sometimes. I loathe my body, my face, my being, my emotions, my out of control, borderline tendencies. Above that, I loathe the fact that I loathe myself. I loathe the fact that I can't just accept myself, love myself, that I have to seek outside approval, that I have to be constantly reassured that I am, indeed, pretty, that I am, indeed, funny, that I am, after all, an enjoyable person to be around. And thus I overcompensate, with fake, cheery attitudes and skimpy clothing, just to tease those comments out of my companions.

And I have no excuses. I really don't. I want to say that it's because I got called fat and ugly by my peers, my crushes, my family, even people who I thought were my friends when I was growing up. I want to say it's because I had such a lack of physical acceptance, a lack of actual appreciation in my youth, that now I need to get it back, get it all back, everything that I was cheated of. And I'm sure that a part of me does need compliments and reassurance and narcissistic input for those reasons exactly. But that should in no way be my go to when I'm trying to rationalize my severe insecurity.

I can't love myself.

I don't know how to love myself, because for the longest time I would joke along with those peers about how fat and ugly I was, how shitty a person I was, how ridiculous and insane and strange and unattractive I was. It was the only thing I knew to do to move them away from the subject. It was my only defense, humor. But that humor developed into something so much worse; it got to a point where I would begin to agree, begin to confirm what they said. Where I would see myself from their standpoint, rather than judge my character as I knew it. And now, despite the change, despite the fact that no one ever says any of those things anymore, I still see myself in that light.

To me, I will always be the only one out of my entire friend group who never had a significant other in high school. To me, I will always be that kid whom no one ever crushed on. To me, I will always be the girl who wore a tux to prom, not because I was "cool, and alternative, and independent" but rather because all 13 boys who I asked, turned me down.

I will always be surprised to see the person that I see in the mirror, because I will always expect that round-faced dweeb that I believed I was in high school. And yet, at the same time, I will always continue to scrutinize my little imperfections, my tiny flaws, and I will manipulate those into the reasons for why people I care about don't have time for me.

I'm so broken. So, so broken. And it hurts, so, so, so much.