The Case of the “I Don’t Matter”s

I’m experiencing an increasing case of the “I don’t matter”s.  So much that it’d probably be easier to disappear.  And I don’t need people to try harder or act smarter or to learn to remember.  Because it’s me.

And it makes me think.  Maybe no one really matters.  I mean, people matter to each other, and it’s my fault that I have no one.  I’ve never really learned to have anyone.  But in the largest meaning of the word, no one matters.  We are all just blips.  Time keeps going, and the longer time gets, the smaller chance our existence will impact anything.

I feel really abandoned, but I’m the one who abandons.  I’m the one who packs up and moves away.  I’m the one who doesn’t stay in touch.  I’m the heart breaker with a broken heart.

I went to a friend’s family’s thanksgiving.  I traveled to be there.  On the way home, I realized it probably would have been better for everyone if I hadn’t gone.  My being there changed nothing.  I was just overwhelmed.  Because I don’t like lots of new people.  I don’t like feeling stuck.  I’m not good at socializing.  Why do I think that because there is a holiday, I need to spend it somewhere, when I’d be happier at home?  I don’t matter.

I entered into something I didn’t mean to enter into.  But it wouldn’t matter if I was here or not.  They can argue over everything without me anyway.  And there would probably be fewer arguments if I didn’t show up, because I’m too liberal, apparently.  Anything I have to say just gets interrupted and forgotten.  I don’t matter.

And when people say that nothing is going to change, it always changes.  When they say you won’t get dropped, they’ll have excuses for when you do.  Because it’s impossible to articulate anything real at all.

I feel alone.  But I feel alone because I don’t know how to express what is inside of me.  I don’t know how to make anyone understand this grief that has built up.  I don’t know how to be anyone else.  I don’t matter.

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Two-Faced

I forgot how to be myself with you
Actually, that probably happened long before you
And I’m not even blaming you
I’m just wondering where the girl you think you know ends
I’m just wondering where I begin

I’m quirky
And that makes me cute
So I’ll tell you how much I love dinosaurs
Saying if that’s a turn off, then I don’t want to turn you on anyway
But I don’t tell you why I won’t spend the night
Because that’s such a big part of who I am
Do I hide it well?

I worry that if I show you my real self that you’ll pull away
But why would I want to enter a commitment while I remain hidden?
Maybe I want you to know me before I let you know me
But you didn’t stick around anyway
Did you?
So if I had let you know me
Would my results be different?
My heart would be so much more broken than it claims to be

It’s the same whole story
Again and again
As I ask for something you won’t give me
While I almost give in every time you ask
A different face behind every question

Ask me again tonight
I’ll tell you
I’ll change, if only you’ll just stay
Or maybe I won’t at all
Because as terrified as I am of you leaving again
I’m more afraid of facing myself the next morning

So maybe I’ve just forgotten who I am entirely
Keeping myself neatly tucked away
Maybe I’ll let myself out today
Yet I’m so comfortable living this facade
Two-faced
Waiting to be found

Things I am Self-Conscious About

I think it might be human nature to be self-conscious.  We are ourselves, so it makes sense to be most aware of ourselves.  And we are the most aware of the things that other people don’t notice.  Most of the things are stupid.  Some of them would go unnoticed for years if we didn’t point them out.  Some of them aren’t even real.  Some of them aren’t noticed, even if we do point them out.
So here are a few things that I’m self-conscious about:

1.  I have a lisp
When I was a kid, my lisp was really bad.  Now that I’m older, not many people hear it.  But I hear it.  I hear it in recordings of my voice.  I hear it when I talk to guests.  And as soon as I hear it, I try to fix it, but when I try to fix it, it gets worse.
I was telling this story to my manager one time.  I used to work at a camp in Sonora.  One day I was in the snack bar with a girl that I worked with and it was really slow.  We thought it would be funny if we used accents when we talked to guests.  “Or we could have lisps!” She announced.  “Oh wait… sorry.”  She apologized when I gave her a look.  I laughed.  This story makes me laugh, but my current manager told me, “You don’t have a lisp.”  He fully doesn’t believe in it.  He can’t hear it.
My best friend can hear it, but only when I point it out.
Really, I’m self-conscious about my speaking in general.  I talk fast.  But I work in customer service, and I often deal with foreigners whose first language isn’t English.  So I try to speak slower for them, but it’s a heavy effort.  When I get excited, I speak much faster.  And I mumble.  I trip over my words.  Not always, but enough for me to notice.
I also talk too much.  I have so many things on my mind all the time, that I just want to say them.  I find myself annoying.

2. My Handwriting
I have terrible handwriting.  I mean, terrible.  It’s legible.  But it’s really not pretty at all.  And it’s inconsistent depending on my mood.  I look at it and cringe.  Thank God we’re beyond the days of guys asking for a handwritten number.
The worst part about this, is that I’m a writer.  I write all the time.  I heard that messy handwriting is a sign of intelligence, but it still doesn’t make me happy.  Maybe I should have been a doctor?

3. Texting People First
I would much rather give people my number than get theirs.  Unless I am standing with them at the exchange and text them right then.  I hate texting someone I’ve never texted before, or someone that I haven’t talked to in a long time, and them responding with, “Who is this?”  It makes me feel so awkward.  Like, why do I have your number?  Are we friends?  Most of the time, I don’t even want to respond.  Which is probably more awkward.

4. Dancing/Playing sports
So, I’m not a horrible dancer.  But I hate when people watch me, or if I feel like people are watching me.  If I’m with the right friends, it’s great.  Most environments, I’m too self-conscious, so I’d rather stay in my seat.
As for playing sports, I used to be good.  I had fun.  And I still have fun, if we’re just messing around and it’s not competitive.  But if I kick the ball wrong, or if I fall while snowboarding, or miss a block in volleyball, I don’t want to play anymore.  Unless I can laugh about it.  If you’ll laugh with me, I’m fine.  If you’re mad, or if you give me a hard time, forget it.

5. My Appearance
Obviously we knew this one was coming.  Every female, scratch that, every human, is critical of their appearance.  But I didn’t used to be.  When I was younger I thought I was pretty.  I thought I would be thin forever, which is kind of what my mom told me.  I had always been active and eaten whatever I wanted.  I had clear skin.  I looked great in a swimsuit.
And then that slowly started to change.  I stopped swimming competitively.  I went through puberty (dear god).  I hurt my knee running, so I had to take some time off.  But I still ate what I wanted.  I have my mother’s hips.  And I’m short, so I feel as if my body is disproportionate.  I’m not even fat, but I feel like I am.  We all feel like we are.  I hate my stomach.  I hate my legs.  I hate my butt.  And I hate when people draw attention to my body at all.  Girls do it far more than guys do.  But I just wish I could hide.
And my skin is not clear, not all the time.  It’s only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older.  I don’t break out nearly as bad as other people, but if I get one spot, I mess with it, and it only gets worse.  And I have moles on my face.  They’re not harmful, and aren’t even that bad, but I am very aware of them.
I obsess over every stray hair.  I have never had good hair, and I am shocked when I hear that people actually do like my hair.  I’m lazy, and I do nothing with it.  I just dye it a lot, because I get bored.  Really, I probably shouldn’t have hair at all.

But none of these things make me a bad person.  They don’t make me ugly.  They don’t make people like me less, even if I sometimes feel like they do.  They won’t keep me from finding someone to spend my life with.  They don’t affect me as a writer, and they shouldn’t affect me as a person.
Remember that you’re beautiful.  Don’t sweat the little things, but that’s just what they are, little.  No one notices but you.  And if they do, they’re not worth it.

About Hope

I tend to remember everything.  More specifically, I remember almost every conversation, especially minor ones, that I have with people.  As of late I have learned not to bring up old conversations, because the speaker usually doesn’t remember saying the things that I remember.  But I digress.  

I once had a conversation with a good friend of mine, Aaron.  I was 2.5 years ago, and my mind was still pretty messed up.  I wasn’t sure how long I would be metaphorically “sticking around” then, but I had a little bit of a grasp of what I would do if I got through my ish.  I had an answer for everything, even in my brokenness.  I was pushing people away in a successful manner.  Throughout our conversation Aaron noticed something.  He then asked me where my hope was.  I had no answer.  I had no answer, because I had no hope.  Even though I was in Bible college, doing my best to follow a God who I felt was betraying me, I had no hope.  My hope was not in God, even though I desperately wanted it to be.  

Fast forward a few years to where I am right now.  For church on Sunday we made s’mores and had community time.  We separated into groups around the four separate campfires and we told God stories.  I had on my heart a need to share where I had been and how I got to where I am now.  I talked about how I had always had a plan, and now that I have no plan I am more content than I have been in a while.  My sharing sparked an ongoing conversation, and some prayer and some vulnerability.  One of my roommates, Gus, went on to point something out to me.  He said that it seemed that for a long time I have had no hope in my life.  When I had a plan, I had no hope.  But now, he said, I have an evident hope.  Even though I have no idea what my life holds, I have hope.  

So maybe when I have plans, I put my hope in them.  If I have learned anything in my life though, it’s that if I don’t get my hopes up, they can’t be let down.  Now that I have no plan, I cannot be let down.  My hope is in God’s plan, and not knowing what it is makes life a little bit more of an adventure.  And I want to be in love with adventure.

A Reason

Lately I have felt like giving up, it’s true.  I think the past year of my life has been a constant downpour of darkness, and it was hard for me to see the light.  I’ve had my ups and downs in life and with God for a long time, just like everyone does.  But experiencing these manic episodes has almost been too much, and those who have been here for a long time know that tried so hard to go beyond the brink of disaster.

Well, I’m done with depression.  I’ve heard a lot over the past year that I am going to be used to help people who are where I was.  That I can help to shed some light into the lives of those lost in the darkness that is depression.  No, I’m not a shrink and I don’t know a lot about this, but I know what it’s like to be and feel this messed up.  I’ve been noticing over the last few days how many young, teenage girls there are that are just like I was.  They want to die, but are not yet at the point of doing something about it.  They are cursed with a feeling that they are ugly and worthless, even though so many people will tell them this isn’t true.  It’s still hard for me to accept compliments.  Sure, call it low self-esteem, but I’m trying to gain confidence.  I still sometimes would rather rip my veins open and bleed rather than turn to God.  But God is helping me.

It’s sad to me that there are so many people riding on the same boat as me, and I never noticed them.  I will always be down to talk, to answer questions, and to be an encouragement, because I understand; maybe not completely, but to a point.  Darkness isolates us and tears us down till we feel like we’re sinking in the river rather than just riding with our feet in the water.  I promise that it gets better.  I know, even I dont’ believe that sometimes, but it is so much more than true.

So here is my reason.  My reason is to help others stay alive; to encourage those who are stuck right where I was at fifteen, sixteen, etc.  It’s a crap place to be.