on compliments...

Here's a weird confession for you -- there is only one compliment I can stand and it goes a little something like this:

I like your dress!

Thanks, it has pockets!

That's it. I have never been more serious in my life. Compliments make me uncomfortable. Itchy. Anxious. I know, I know, I have low self-esteem but here's the thing I'm never going to feel deserving of positive affection. It just never feels right to me, as if I don't feel as though I was born to be loved. I say that I'm awesome a lot and I do, honestly, believe that {I mean, hello, have you met me?} but, also, I feel as though I belong in the most despised ranks of the world, just hanging with Hitler and Trump. 

No amount of compliments and love is ever going to make me feel different. I am always going to be the weirdo that hates being called beautiful or funny {even though I am hilarious} or smart. Ugh, especially that last part. And don't even get me started on compliments on my writing. Just stop now.

I was that annoying kid in school who, when I received full marks on something, would go up to the teacher and ask if they had made a mistake. Because I felt like one giant mistake, someone who didn't belong here, someone who wasn't worthy of life. And while compliments are supposed to reinforce the idea that I am loved and valued, they don't, not with me. They serve as a reminder that my mind is never going to be right. That I can never feel normal. That I'm never going to be able to wake up and feel unconditional love. I will always be the person who remembers telling her parents she didn't feel loved by them and being mocked instead of consoled and helped. My mind is programmed to believe that everything is wrong with me and I am unworthy because of it.

Compliments remind me that I am always going to be that scared, unloved, girl. And, so, I hide behind sarcasm and self-deprecation, partly because I like that kind of humour, but, mostly, because I really do believe all those things I say "jokingly" about myself.

And, now, if the world could learn to only compliment me when I'm wearing a dress with pockets well, then, I'd imagine life would be pretty wonderful... wouldn't it?

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be nice. unless you can be cake and then always be cake.