Monster, Part 2

It is desperately difficult to convince yourself that you have worth in order to bolster yourself when the fear that you are worthless is constantly validated by others. When your boyfriend of five years abandons you in a foreign country without a word, when your childhood friend informs you that they have no desire to continue your friendship without an excuse, when people constantly cut you out of their lives, drop you, abandon you… how can you not find the common denominator to be yourself? How can you not come to the conclusion that you are not a person worth knowing?

I have been told that it is unattractive to have low self-worth. You know, even if you don’t know that you know it, that a positive personality is attractive. People want to surround themselves with upbeat, positive individuals. They want one-dimensional friends who don’t have bad days and who don’t sometimes fall prey to self-doubt or who aren’t struggling with personal battles. I can’t blame them. As a human, I crave to be surrounded by similarly positive influences. It’s in our nature to be drawn to things that are uplifting. But what if we are the toxin?

It is a cruel irony that people who are plagued with mental illness which makes them incredibly vulnerable to rejection and low self-worth are made unattractive to the very people who they so desperately need in their lives at that time. One rejection, however gently applied, can snap a very fragile thread in a person. One text message stating that we are no longer friends, no explanations given, can destroy you. It is one more confirmation that you are not worthy of friendship, that basest form of human comfort.

It has come to the point where I am afraid to talk to anyone about what I’m going through because it feels so selfish. I don’t want to be selfish. I don’t want to seem to detract from someone else’s pain by dumping my own on top of them. I sit and wonder about people who feel free to confide in friends and I can’t figure out the equation. Do their friends care because they freely confide? Or do their friends care because they are predisposed to care due to sharing a bond? I have spent my life in fear of being a burden. I have spent my life at a distance, aching to matter to people who didn’t even see me. I have spent my life projecting my self-hate onto others, and assuming that they don’t care before ever giving them the chance to decide for themselves.

Are the monsters inside of me, or am I the monster?

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