I have had pretty severe self worth issues for most of my life. I don’t think I have have ever felt as though I was worth anything. I understand that I have things to offer people, but I don’t really see the value of them. I do not see why anyone would want those things from me in particular when there are better people that can give them to them.
Pretty early on it was drilled into me day in and day out that I was worthless. I learned at a young age that I was not special; that I was just like everybody else, and possibly even less than them. Hearing that every single day causes you to believe it and 18 years later, I still believe it.
I believe that I have said before that I just want to feel special, like I matter more than others. I have always felt entirely replaceable, even in my own life. I have felt as though anyone could have played the parts I have played. Many people have gone out of their way to make sure I knew that, but I do not think anyone has ever tried to tell me otherwise. I can honestly not remember a time when I felt special since about age 6.
This goes deep into who I am. I do not feel like I am worth doing anything for. At all. There are things that I need to change, but I have trouble working on them because I am doing them for me and that is just not a worthwhile goal in my mind. Those times in my life where I have tried to become a better person and really work on things were when I was talking to someone and there was high potential for it to become more than just friendship. As soon as it was (inevitably) made clear to me that friendship was as far as it would go, I stopped trying to be better.
I can see all of this in my life recently. I started talking to someone. Then I started painting and trying to turn that into something, finally. Then I started exercising and eating right. And I was happy. And then it was made explicitly clear that we would only be friends and I stopped it all. Even my blogs slowed and became more difficult to write. We still talk, but I can’t derive that drive from her anymore. Sometimes I think maybe we should stop talking, but I do care about her and I would hate to not have her to talk to.
I do not like needing someone else to excite the drive to be better, but I can’t seem to find it inside of myself to care about me enough to do anything about it. I want to live a better life and I want to be healthier and I want to be happy, but the drive necessary to do it just isn’t there. I am not a worthy reason for anything. I deserve nothing and I expect nothing. And that is exactly what I have gotten. Because I do not believe I am worth it, I do not have anything worthwhile. I cannot seek a girlfriend because I do not see how any woman could ever want to be with me. A part of me realizes that I have many qualities a woman would desire and that my weight isn’t the hindrance I think it is, but the rest of me thinks that I am worthless and therefore do not deserve to have anyone in my life.
I do not know what to do to change this. I do not know how to change my view of self. I mean, I can say to myself ‘I AM worth it’, but how do I get myself to believe it?
Is what I am really looking for someone to care for me and love me in a way I have never been able to do for myself? All of the things I think of when I think about finding someone are about love and comfort, things I do not have in my life now or in the not-so-recent past. They are also things I have never been able to find within myself. I have always felt best when I was talking with someone that had potential for more.
I… don’t know. This area is all cloudy for me. I don’t know what I want out of a relationship, I just know that there is a deep desire in me to no longer be alone.
You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. – Tyler Durden, Fight Club
Growing up, I was always what people would call ‘weird’. I always marched to my own beat, never following what others did. Everything about me was different. It wasn’t always easy. It meant I had few friends. I never really hung out with the other kids, preferring to stay to myself and use my own imagination to have fun.
I don’t know why this is. I never felt weird. I did what felt normal to me. I did feel different, but usually not in a bad way. I know I was different. For one, I was (and still am) more intelligent than the vast majority of those around me. In 1st grade I was the only kid allowed to read any book in the school library; everyone else had to stick to the section set aside for their grade. In 2nd grade they did all the standardized tests and decided I should be in an accelerated program, so in 3rd grade I went to a school with a class dedicated to the smartest kids in the district. In 5th grade, I got horrible grades but that was only because I didn’t want to do homework; it was beneath me. I aced all of tests though, including the standardized tests. I remember very specifically taking the standardized math test and giving a sarcastic answer because I thought it was stupid. Still got a 99% on it. I was always the top student in standardized tests. In 6th grade I stopped studying or taking notes. I didn’t need them, I knew it all as soon as I read it and applied it.
I don’t remember most years after that very well though. At that point I was just doing what I could to survive school. Bullying had always been around, but it got worse in middle school. My first bully was in kindergarten. I don’t remember much about it, but I was told it was a girl and she used to harass me everyday. Even when I switched schools, a bully would find me. I spent most of my time alone because of it. It sucked in grade school, but it wasn’t too bad. I still liked school then. In middle school though, it got vicious. That’s when the kids got really mean.
It also got more physical then. I was never beat up, really. I was too big for that, but that didn’t stop them from trying. The biggest ones never accomplished much, but they would try. I was never really one for fighting. It just wasn’t my style. That said, a few managed to push me too far. One kid came up behind me and put me in a chokehold. he ended up flat on his back after I threw him over me. He never touched me again. Another one kept pushing me until I grabbed him by the throat and held him off the ground. I never heard from him again. The biggest bully in the school came after me one day and we got into an actual fistfight. He tried to wrestle me down, but I wouldn’t go. The bell rang for class before anything could get serious, but he never tried to start another fight.
That didn’t stop them from abusing me verbally though. That was far worse than any physical attacks. The physical attacks would have been better. I could have defended myself in those situations. I never had the ammunition to fight back against verbal abuse. Even though I was smarter and better read, I was never one for words. Still not, really, unless I am writing. Because of that, I never had the ability to fight back against the teasing. It didn’t help that I was guileless, naive, and trusting, but for the most part, I just couldn’t fight back.
So, I closed myself off. I avoided everyone and spent my time in books. I could escape in them. I read hundreds of books each year. I spent all of my free time in the library. So much so that the librarian remembered me even 5 years later when she was working at the public library.
I internalized everything about my middle school experience. I bottled it up and did everything I could to forget it. I had no friends by the time it ended. I had had a few at the start, but even my best friend turned against me, eventually choosing to become one of my tormentors as well. I hated school. I wanted out as badly as I could. It was bad enough that I would become physically ill at the thought of going to school. There were many days I got to stay home from school because I was ‘sick’. I wasn’t really, I had just gotten so nervous and scared at the thought of going that I puked uncontrollably. Every morning I would try and talk my mom or my dad into letting me stay home. It rarely ever worked unless I was sick, so I tried harder to make myself puke so I could stay home. Eventually though, that stopped working and I was out of ways to stay home.
It was also during this time that I learned a lot of my worst habits. To this day when things go wrong and I hurt, I get the compulsion to hit something until I bleed. Either that or find anything sharp and start cutting. I don’t do it anymore except under extreme duress (and never the cutting anymore, just the punching). However, back then, it was all I had. I put holes in walls. I broke a lot of stuff. My knuckles are still fucked because of it. I’m also covered in scars. If it wasn’t cutting, it was burning myself.
I used to think it was something I learned from tv or something, but I don’t think it was. I never saw it as a cry for attention. If it was, I wouldn’t have done it places that couldn’t be seen. I did it because it was the only way I could focus all of the emotional and spiritual pain that I had into a very specific and finite form of physical pain. It was an escape, and in that hell that was middle school, I needed all the escape I could find.
My greatest escape was going to private school at my church for High School. I was the only kid that wanted to go there, but I literally thought I would kill somebody if I had to go to public High School. Just going and seeing Willamette had scared the shit out of me. I thought that if I went there, the bullying would just continue to escalate until someone pushed me until I broke and I beat them to death. I always knew it was a possibility and I was afraid of it. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t think I would be able to stop it. I had never been able to stop the bullying before, how could I stop it there? And if they kept pushing me until I broke, I would break badly. So, I begged my parents to send me to Northside Christian Academy. It probably wasn’t the best school to be attending, but it was a safe haven. I was among friends there and was away from the bullying.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the complete escape I needed, but that was out of my hands. I was away from the bullying and the other kids, but that was when my home life started falling apart. My mom started getting sick and was in and out of the hospital and the mental wards (though I think that last part was due to the meds she was on more than anything). I remember the Pastor (who was our principal) taking my sister and I to see her sometimes, even in the middle of school. Taking my mom to the hospital for a headache or something else became a part of my life. Once I had my license, I remember I had to take her a lot or pick her up because she couldn’t drive. I would have to leave school sometimes or get up late at night and take her to or pick her up from Urgent Care. It was tumultuous and I tired of it, but she was my mom and I loved her so I did it (though I would argue it at every turn, but I was an impetuous teen that had better things to be doing).
I don’t remember when it happened, but sometime between 15 and 18 my parents separated and eventually divorced. It was devastating. All I could think was ‘Just last year I was getting grossed out by them making out in public places… and now my mom isn’t even living here anymore’. I was lost. They were my archetype for love, and now it was gone. I didn’t know what to do. I was completely lost at that point. I don’t remember being overly affected by it at the time, but looking back I clearly was. I can’t even tell you what year it happened or how old I was. I don’t even remember when they told us. I have no memory whatsoever of that, which I didn’t know until right now. I remember having to go to a counselor, but not for very long. It didn’t really help, I never felt comfortable enough to talk to her. She also wanted to focus on controlling my anger without ever getting to the root cause of it.
That school should have been an escape to allow me to start healing from the traumas of grade and middle school, but I never got the chance. With my mom’s illness, my parent’s divorce, my looming end of schooling, and the eventual dumping by Anna, I was done for. All of that together on top of the years of torment in school finally just crushed me. Anna was just the last blow. I remember coming home from seeing her that last time and lying down on my floor and not moving much for about 12 hours. At the time I thought it was because she had hurt me, but I think it was more than that. After she dumped me, I literally had nothing left in me. I just lay there, bawling, blank, bereft, and broken all at once. I had come unglued.
That was probably the first massive change that I had. From that day forward, I was a different person. From then on, I was leaving it all behind. I had already found my secondary schooling and had it all planned, but now I threw myself at it. My mom told me she never expected me to be the one to strike out on my own and leave. Granted, my dad still helped me out and took care of me a lot throughout, but as far as I was concerned, I was never coming back. I was done with my previous life and I never wanted to go back. I was only looking forward, though in looking forward I was very pointedly not looking back. I did everything I could to keep from looking back and seeing all the destruction that had birthed this new version of me.
It was a version of me that could not last long. He was born to fail, and at the first real sign of strife, he did. I had spent most of my time in school very poor as I had trouble finding work and lived off what little my dad was able to send me. Even when I did find work, I was doing all that I could just to pay rent, let alone eat. There were weeks when all I had was a bag of rice. I remember being so hungry one pay day that I broke down and bought a burger and fries at Whataburger. I was so hungry that I had to force myself not to go feral on it. When I was done, my body shut itself down to process it all and I passed out at the bus stop. When that job finally ran out and I got laid off, it was all over. The boy that ran from home without looking back was no more, and I had to look back to find help.
I ended up moving back to Oregon and staying with my dad for a few months before moving in with my mother, whom I had only just reconnected with after several years without contact. Nearly 5 years later and I’m still living with her. For the first 2 and a half years, I didn’t really do much. That was my darkest time and I was completely lost. But, now, I pay my way and I do what I can to take care of myself. I had planned to move out this year, but the finances just won’t allow it, so I bide my time and work towards it.
Through all of this, the bullying, the divorce, the devastation, I never really talked to anyone. I have never been good expressing things verbally. I can write things very well (as evinced by this blog) but I am horrible about talking. I probably could have talked to any number of people about it, but I never knew how to express it in words. I did write back then, but it was only for me. I wrote poetry and songs all about the hatred, betrayal, and pain that I felt. I’ve still only ever shared that stuff with one person. I very much lived within my own mind. I have always tried to run through and figure things out in my own mind, though it has never accomplished much.
Through this blog, I have learned to start expressing myself more. I have family and friends that read this, as well as some of you I have never met that read it as well. Many are surprised by the things they find here. They could guess at it, but I never told them. I just held it as deep as I could and hid it from everyone. But, in writing it here, I am loosening my grip on it all and starting to talk about it. Because I am, it is allowing me to start growing as a person in ways I haven’t done in years, if ever.
If you’ve made it this far, I have one last thing to impart: Don’t internalize it all. Talk to someone, even if you don’t know how. Cry and rage and be afraid, but make it known. If you hold it within, it will eat you alive. You don’t want to be where I have been, wishing for death because you don’t know how to live. It will get better, but not until you deal with what has happened.