This is probably the most depressing title I’ve ever written. I should probably change it to something else so it doesn’t sound like I’m desperately, and actively, looking for validation, because I don’t. For a long time, I haven’t liked judgment.
In my latest therapy session, I went through some tests that felt awkward and uncomfortable at first. Because, again, I don’t like anyone digging into my head unless I’m the one who opens myself up, which is rare.
I can’t stop thinking about her saying, “You might look at yourself and hate yourself religiously, just because you don’t like how you turned out.”
Something about that sentence tickled me, something I’ve been so eager not to admit. I do hate myself, in a way. I’ve been doing this just to show that I’m not that interesting, not interesting enough for people to take advantage of me.
Some people take this as a warning, but a few others take it as a hint. I don’t know what they see in me, but looking broken and unattractive has always been a shield I put on, on a daily basis. Sometimes, these people draw themselves closer, out of curiosity or relatability, I don’t even know. And sometimes, I let my guard down because they start showing their vulnerability too.
And this is the problem I learned the hard way. Broken people are always drawn to other broken people. When it fits, it itches. It feels uncomfortable. But somehow, you convince yourself there’s no other way.
I would say this is the only kind of attraction that has ever felt solid to me, something that fits like a glove. Far away from generic preferences like how people spend their free time reading or gaming, whether they like spicy food or barely eat at all, what kind of music they listen to, and so on.
The protection, I see it as something that keeps me grounded. And remembering. I’ve grown to love using it. But maybe with a tweak. Maybe loving myself a little more wouldn’t be so bad. But at what cost?
It worked.
It cost me most of my youth. And the price was that I became difficult to love, and even harder to stay.
I don’t hate myself because I think I deserve it, I hate myself because it keeps things predictable. Protection always feels like control, until you realize it’s been controlling you. The problem with survival strategies is that they don’t retire when the danger ends.
