self-portrait

I’ve been writing long-delayed emails to people back home, and I got to thinking about people whose lives I think I’ve somehow impacted, however slightly, and wondering whether this happened only because they’re unaware of the full extent of my numerous flaws. This isn’t a get-down-on-myself rant, only I think I’ve been afraid of admitting these things to other people, even as much as I’ve wholly and personally accepted them. I’m not reluctant to downplay these flaws anymore, partly because I hope people who know me well already have a sense of them and partly because I’ve realized how much I value the imperfections in the people I love. It’s not a matter of liking a certain quality, it’s a matter of being thankful for the texture of character. I wonder whether those close to me feel a similar gratitude, not as a means to justify flaws but as a determination of whether I can mean something to them, as I really am.

I can be really petty. Most of that comes from being really sensitive, and attributing more significance to actions and words than people intend. I’ve gotten better at evaluating and deciding which things are really worth getting upset over. I definitely keep more of it to myself and take it out less on other people than I used to. But it doesn’t always change the initial hurt/annoyance/anger. It frustrates me how easily I’m hurt, and maybe even more detrimental than that, I hate that I hate admitting it, I hate thinking of my sensitivity as a weakness. I suppose it’s not an uncommon thing, the desire to be stronger than you are. I have a hard time defining strength. Sometimes I think that if I don’t stick up for that something someone else passes off as insignificant, I’m betraying the part of myself that says it means something. Is it just principle, or is it really the thing, and is it valid if it’s only one or the other?

I’m completely neurotic. I think about things long, long after they’ve passed and shouldn’t matter anymore. I think about things that don’t even matter during the moment they happen. I dislike the fact that I try to prepare myself for everything and absolutely cannot stand the notion of innate failings counteracting deliberate plans. I can’t for the life of me let things take their course without my intervention. In principle I place hope in chance, but sometimes my faith wavers. I’m in love with the idea of things falling on their own, but I can’t sacrifice control for the possible benefits of spontaneity. I don’t like facing the truth of the world moving as it is without my hands in it.

I expect too much from people and I don’t live up to my own standards. I don’t like to think that I demand things from others, but I often do...except I rarely outrightly demand anything. I perpetuate a deceptive mindset that is adamant about self-sufficiency. I hate admitting that I need certain things, so I never express them aloud. Then I’m disappointed when people don’t figure it out on their own, and blame them for it. Along the same lines, I want people to be considerate and compassionate and kind and intelligent and strong and essentially good, when I have no idea really how to go about emulating all those things at once.

My desire to give is often inspired by a deep-seated fear of being ultimately selfish. Is it really that I want to be a good person, or just that I don’t want to be a bad one? Maybe there is a difference, and I worry sometimes that I fall into the lesser category. I too often think about the way I feel, this entry being a perfect example. I suppose it’s human nature to do that, because how can you really think this way about how someone else feels? Still, I think the narcissism can drive people crazy, and it’s not exactly the best thing for me either.

I mask the reality of these things by considering the other side of them. I tell myself there are beneficial aspects to these faults, and I can’t decide if this a healthy practice or just denial. To consider viewing the positive as a negative—this is what I do to myself.

Then of course there are all the superficial things I’d like to change just because everyone wants to be everything. I wish I were smarter, funnier, more outgoing. I wish I could articulate myself aloud. I wish I had real talents rather than things I just like to do and study. It’d be nice to be taller, and to have a different nose, and to look older than thirteen, and to look a little less ordinary. Being happy with yourself doesn’t mean you’re immune to such desires.

Having written all this, it’s more difficult than I anticipated to post it. Not so much because I don’t want to share these negativities, more because I didn’t admit half of everything, so I feel a bit like an imposter. I started thinking and writing about this because everyone constructs a portrait of themselves to present to other people. I know what qualities I’d like to have, and it’s easier than one might think to portray the longing to have as actual possession. You think that it would be satisfying to have people think of you as better or less flawed than you genuinely are, but really, it only makes you feel slightly empty and enormously guilty. In recent interactions, I find myself just wanting to be honest. Having found people who inspire this desire to be fair to them has conversely made me acknowledge my own need for people who prefer this honesty, people who, as I chip away at myself, somehow make me feel more full.

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