I’ve been going to Mercer for three and a half years now, and in that time, only one person has honestly tried to date me…well that one person and my ex-boyfriend, but I’m not counting him because 1) he doesn’t go to Mercer, and 2) I’m not entirely sure he qualifies as a person. The only guys that ever hit on me are the ones that have danced with me and assume, because I’m a good dancer, I must be a good lay. They get real close and they say to me things like, “When do I get to see you move like that with no one else around?” or “When do we get our one-on-one time?” or “Girl, you are so fine, let me take you out.” When has any respectable relationship, in the history of relationships, started with the adjective “fine”?
I’ve become more and more aware of the fact that men don’t seem to be genuinely attracted to me since this school year has started. And as I have become more and more aware of it, I’ve become more and more aware of other things as well. For instance, I have been hanging out with the same fraternity since the very beginning of sophomore year, and only one of those guys, in the entire fraternity, has ever been to one of my shows when he wasn’t required to for one of his classes. And that show was my most recent one. Friends? Where? I certainly don’t see any.
I’ve been unhappy with myself for a while now…but the longer it has lasted, the more intense it has become. Until now. Now…now, I no longer dislike myself…it has turned into a full-fledged hatred. I hate myself for being imperfect. And I don’t mean perfect in the shallow ways that you may be thinking. I don’t care about being perfect looking, or perfect at sports or in school. I mean that I hate myself for my imperfections as a person.
I’ve been accused, by more than a handful of people in the past month or so, of being mean. I’m honest. I’m extremely honest. I’m even frequently brutally honest. And I’ve been known to snap when I get annoyed (but I used to work full-time in a daycare, so you can probably imagine that I don’t get annoyed all that easily). But there is not a single mean bone in my body. I LOVE my friends and my family with every single ounce of my being and would go to the ends of the earth to help them if they needed me. I would give the clothes off of my back in the middle of a busy street for someone I loved. And I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and had hours long conversations with people because they just needed to talk. And I consider my loyalty as my single best asset. I don’t know how much money I’ve donated to the firefighters and churches and panhandlers I’ve come across in my lifetime…but I can’t remember a single specific time I said no. I’m so sensitive that commercials have been known to make me cry. And yet despite these things that I’ve listed off that are considered good qualities, I still genuinely feel like a piece of shit person. I’ve pushed away more than one friend with my honesty, and apparently snapped at one particular person too many times for his annoying me. Every time I hurt someone’s feelings or make them angry, I feel like the lowest piece of dirt on the planet…like I don’t even deserve to be on the bottom of someone’s shoe. Which I suppose is a good, healthy reaction right? But it happens so much that I’m beginning to constantly feel that way.
What I hate most about myself though, is my complete and total lack of being able to leave well enough alone. This is my mom’s trick. She loves me, and I know she does, but I’ve only gotten one true, pure, no ifs, ands, or buts complement from her in my entire life. She complements me frequently for my achievements and such, but it is always followed with a “but.” I was a goalie for 14 years, and I’ve played more than one perfect (i.e. no goals against) soccer games in my life. But after every single one, what I heard was, “You played great! That one save was so nice! But, my God Shannon, I just wish you would step up farther. You drive me nuts. And why did you do this instead of that one that one shot?” To which my reply was always, “OMG!!! You don’t play soccer. You’re not a 5’4” goalie! Quit fucking telling me where to stand!!! The farther out I am, the more room they have to get a ball over my head! And why the fuck do you care how I stopped the shot? I stopped it didn’t I? It didn’t go in, leave me alone!”
Shockingly, as much as I hate that about my mom (whom I love very much), I do it to EVERYBODY. It’s weird. I know it sounds critical when my mom does it to me, and I know how much I hate it, yet it continues to come out of my mouth. It’s never meant critical. But it is. That’s exactly what it is. Constructive criticism is still criticism…adding “constructive” to the beginning of it doesn’t make it any less hurtful. And I know this. I do. But it comes out of my mouth before I even realize that it’s coming out…and then I can’t stop it. I feel like I’m doing my friend a disservice by not telling them exactly how I feel. It’s like a sickness. I need to stop and I don’t know how. And I hate myself for it. I really do.
Then I hate myself for being shallow. I don’t feel shallow. I feel like anybody who says they don’t judge people by how they look is a complete and total liar. Everybody judges everybody by how they look…initially. You have to. It’s all you know about the person. But you can’t assume you know everything about that person by how they look, and you CANNOT let how they look get in the way of your getting to know who they are. If you do that, then you are shallow in my opinion. I don’t do that. I make a judgment, but I certainly don’t stand by it…it’s more of an observation. But I’m not an ugly girl. I have a decently nice, curvy figure, nice hair, and a pretty face. I’m no Angelina Jolie, and I’m certainly not gorgeous like some of the girls I know, but I could definitely be harder on the eyes. And instead of embracing this about myself, I’m ashamed of it. I’m not ashamed of being pretty; I’m ashamed of knowing I’m pretty. It’s totally irrational. And to make up for that shame, I go to class everyday looking like I just rolled out of bed. I don’t do my hair. I only touch up my make-up to cover up what I didn’t take off the day before and didn’t come all the way off in the shower. I wear t-shirts almost everyday, and jeans, sweats, or basketball/soccer shorts 95% of the year. No lie. The only exception I make to the rule is when I go out to the club or something…in which case I usually still wear jeans or jean shorts, but will actually do my hair and make-up and wear a cuter top.
So I know what I dislike about myself, and I know what’s rational and what’s not, and I even know how I’d like to be. I just don’t know how to get there. How do I make myself feel like telling the truth, but not the whole truth, is sometimes better then laying it all out there? How do I stop scaring men away by my straightforward attitude and extroverted personality? How do I stop feeling like a bad person for making the same mistakes everybody else makes? But most importantly, how do I become the person I want to become without completely losing the person that I am?
