This may come as something of a surprise to those of you who know me more than some and less than most, but I am cripplingly beset with a certain madness, a gnawing voice curled up in my ear. From the comfort of its waxy warm home, the little terror loves to whisper half-truths of my folly. In my own voice I hear it; "I can't" and "I'm not". "I won't". "I don't". It pervades me and persuades me and grows fat on my failure. And so I have come to believe all manner of baseless claims: My skin is bad, my hair a mess, and my body disproportionate. My attempts at conversation are stinted and shallow, and anyone who I might claim as Friend would scarcely reciprocate. I can't cook or wear button-down shirts, and my life is crumbling to disorganized dust in my hands. Anything good I might achieve or obtain, I will doubtless ruin before long. My intelligence is less than it ought to be, besides some small skill with words, and what is that when nothing I have to say would be of any lasting worth? I fear the embraces of more caring souls than myself, for I feel I wear only a thin carapace of confidence and competence. It could crack at any second and my true nature would come spilling out like so much sand.
Insecurity, it's called. And it thrives on the likes of me because it hardly has to lie to be believed. I fully acknowledge that I am not what I should be, I don't work as I was designed to. Something in me is broken and no amount of polish can hide the fracture. Now I know the right way to answer to this voice: I am not as much as I could be, but I am chosen. I am crafted. I am loved. I have been made worthy of more than my component pieces would merit. And yet the voice remains, singing its sweet song of deprecation and setting a splinter in my soul to chafe. Even now, as I confront it, it whispers, "Wow, you must be some kind of sucker to fall pray to such an obvious ploy. What is wrong with you?" Heaven help me, for I cannot escape on my own.
4 comments:
I am reading "searching for God knows what" by Donald Miller and it is helping a lot of pieces fall in place for me.
At any rate you can know that I love you completely "as is" (not that love from one so broken as me is much comfort!). God also loves you "as is" and that is a better deal.
Oh, how woeful it must be to the beautiful, brilliant, creative, multi-talented, insightful, thin, blonde, young, well-loved, fed, healthy, middle-class, humorful, soon-to-be-college-educated American girl.
They should start a charity for you. ;)
In all seriousness, irrational anxiety/insecurity suck with incredible force, as they are as beyond your control as your shoe size (barring self-inflicted Chinese foot-binding or something, but you get my point)
For what it's worth: I was insecure and un-confident at 20, and now at 27, I am convinced that I am the greatest blessing this Earth has ever seen.
My recommendation: if you haven't realized how awesome you are by 25, try therapy, then pills. By then it is simply a chemical imbalance. Doesn't feel like it though, does it? :/
"realized" was a poor word choice: replace it with "grown comfortable with"
You're the type of person who seemed so amazing to me that I wished I could be friend of yours, but you were so nice, so smart, so pretty, hard-working, creative, and charitable that I assumed that you would never deign to speak. Rather, I knew you would at the very least tolerate me, likely treat me with hospitality that many lack, but I never felt inconveniencing you with my presence. I haven't seen you since high-school, but when you were there you gave off such an aura of perfection inside and out that I never dared speak to you.
Anyway, my point is that you could stand to crack a little. You could fall a long way and still be far above most. Also, don't assuming that which lies just below the surface is your true nature.
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