Sexeteria

Just some perspective on my last post.

It was a difficult post to write, because I was both admitting some psychological shit I didn't want to own up to, and because I was "telling on my body"--there are things I've mentioned in that post that I've never told anyone, for fear that by mentioning these things exist, they would blow up into giant imperfections and that would be all the person could see when they looked at me.

But the point wasn't that I was confirming that list, but rather that I needed to admit to the fact that this behavior is going on and these listed items exist in my head, AND that I've given all of them a label as "bad."

I was trying to think yesterday about how I could get across how I feel, because I didn't think it came across in the last post. To get across that it wasn't about wishing the things I listed were better. I don't want to "fix" them or "erase" them (well, okay, maybe the adult acne stuff)...so much as I just want to stop hating them. And this sentence popped into my mind, "I want someone who I can tell all that to, and they'll still love me despite my imperfections."

And then I thought, that's all wrong. Because the point is, these things I've listed--hair growth, scars, skin breakouts, a stomach that's not completely flat--they are NOT "flaws" or "imperfections"--they are perfectly normal things that a good majority of people have. NOT to have any of these conditions is what is less normal.

So the sentence is, "I want someone who will love me because I'm a completely normal human being, with a normal body, which they happen to enjoy very much." And of course, turns out that's slightly wrong, too, because I'm projecting outward--assuming I need someone else's approval to be validated. The real truth is, I want myself to love what a normal human being I am. I want to be able to tell myself these things exist and think, that's just fine and normal. I want to stop hating myself for not being perfect--the only state which is, in fact, abnormal--and also non-existant. I want to be able to look at something like a hair that grows on my areola and know that 1 in every 6 women also has this. One in every six. That means well over half a billion women worldwide (if my math is correct). So, hardly a freak; hardly a fact that needs to be shrouded in shame--even IF one prefers to remove said hair.

Yet, I have persisted in seeing these things as imperfections rather than acceptable normalcies. And I have assumed, due to my own inner monologue and my fear of modern media's influence, that the rest of the world is so diseased with this viewpoint, too, that I can simply NOT be "good" as is.

It's simply not true. I'm fucking normal. I'm "good as is." I'm tired of having to either live up to or fight against some standard of beauty that's completely manufactured and culturally subjective--because either way, assimilate or fight, that "standard" then takes center stage and all the power.

I'm aiming for standard free. Full acceptance. Of my body, and of other people's.

This goal may come particularly hard to me, as I was raised from infancy to be hyper critical of my and others' appearances, and to think more about how I would appear to others than about how happy I was with myself. I'm not going to go into it here, because it's an unfriendly topic for mother's day and I'm not in the mood to feel mean. But I'm going to try not to be angry about the fact that I was submerged in this pathology so early. I can see now that it was not personal but rather completely indicative of someone else's insecurity, which at the time I was too young to separate out from. Nonetheless, I can't help but wish that it hadn't been the case, for both that person and for me. Because I don't really want to find myself here, struggling with this, at this point in my life.

But that's another story for another time, maybe.

As it is, I'm here at this point in my life struggling with it, and that's the way it goes. Better to be struggling with it than just burying it like I've done for so many other years. No more. I'm ready to torch this fucker like a bad tick that's been sucking my lifeblood for too long.

Seriously. I'm done with this shit.

What I choose to believe...about myself, about others, about how the world works and thinks...all of this is merely perception. And a perception is never a universal truth; it's a choice.

The problem is, sometimes I'm so used to one way of perceiving things, it's hard to figure out what new thing to choose instead--or even how choose it or believe in it, once it's chosen.

I've got some serious thinking to do.