accept myself

I need to accept two things (on my last count)
1. that he will always be sad and unhappy. That it is not my fault, that there is nothing I can do to change that.
2. That I will never be considered a part of his family, because atheism and liberalism are skin-deep even for him, and I do not have a ring.
On re-count, of course, there are 3 things:
3. that his daughters will always despise me, although I have done nothing to hurt them, and that he will never activel do anything to change that.
Any one of these thigns may change one day, but I can’t do anything to make it happen, and I can’t count on any of that changing. No it’s for me to decide.
I should really mention here again that he is the only person who understands me, that he is honest and consentious and sensitive and smart. That he loves me and accepts me, and does not judge my excentricities and does not want me to change. I could accept him for what he is in return.

Right now, at this minute, I accept myself. This is not an easy thing. It’s almost hard to admit it, to seperate myself from what I know about myself – the woman who can’t accept that she is what she is. Maybe because I was so hurt, and angry, and have not had a chance to talk about it with him yet (yes, I know) and I’ve been thinking and thinking about it, and a thing that always comes up is: you can’t do that to ME. Not to ME. Not to someone as good as me. I deserve better. And if you don’t accept me, if you dont appreciate the person who is me, then you have no business being with me. But I know that I’m fine.

I sat on the toilet cover and looked at my face in his big mirror. I saw a face. Not an ugly face, it could even barely pass as good looking. Not stunning, not breathtaking, but how many people are breathtaking?
For some reason, in my head, I always go back to my looks. It probably has nothing to do with my looks, but so far I wasn’t successfull in getting over this. It’s a sort of a concept that I’ve been holding since my teens, and I’m aware that it’s childish.
I stood up and saw my body. Again, it’s just a body. Not particularly ugly, not fat. No! In his mirror today I looked even firm and athletic, sort of. People who had known me on-line and have later met me face-to-face are always surprised by the way I look. It seems that I speak of myself as fat. Well, but I think of myself as fat. When I know that I’m not really. And if I were, so what? It’s not a crime!
But what I saw was just a body. A body that can’t love itself, that’s always in a battle against itself. I looked and I saw nothing to hate. What’s to hate? It’s just a body. Somone could even like it.
Someone. Not me.

It’s not, as I have assumed so far, the fact that I’m secretly afraid of people and of actually having friends. It’s that I’m boring! You may say that’s not true, but that’s because you don’t know me in real life, you can read here what you like and ignore the boring parts. But imagine me, finally having a chance to talk to somebody over 10, starting to tell long stories about how my hamstrings did or did not hurt on each of my last six runs, and what I think it means, and how the babysitter stood me up. And they try to make excuses to go away and not hear the rest of it. My ex-husband used to turn on the tv to pass the time until I stopped talking. Current boyfriend reads the paper, same thing! I’m a boring person!
I’m kind of relieved to understand that. Many things can be worse. Or can they?

But… why can’t he see how great I am? Why doesn’t he feel infinitly lucky to have me? So lucky that he doesn’t even need to be sad about other things? Ok, no, I’m being silly, but why doesn’t he feel lucky enough to take some comfort in the fact that he has such a great girlfriend?
And…
That time, when he is no longer so sad, and can turn his attention and time to me… when does that start, again?
(And will that time end five minutes later because his daughters call him or work is stressfull?)
(Now I’m just being bitter.)
(And nobody likes a bitter woman)
(So everything makes sense and forget I asked)
(Please sombody say something nice to me, quick)

And I don’t super-like myself today, either. I have no patience for anybody. I’m ignoring back the people who are ignoring me (not that they notice) and I lose nothing by it. Grrr!
Except my kids, who are the best, and my boyfriend, who went and downloaded the new Jane Eyre without me having even said anything.

At work, I share a cubicle with another woman named S (no, she’s not actually named S). S is very nice, really. S is also friendly and social. Everybody likes S, Everybody is friends with S. I don’t have friends at work, but am friendly with everyone.
For hours and hours I sit back to back with S (that’s how people sit in cubicles, for those of you who’ve never worked in one) and every few minutes someone comes to have a friendly chat. Every few minutes, all day long, I hear: “S! Hi!”, “S! Good morning!”, “S, what’s up?”.
I don’t expect them to actually have a conversation with me. We’d have very little to talk about and that’s ok. But isn’t it just basic decency and politeness to say “Hi, Almog”, too? Not one of them ever does.
So not to be unnecessarily passive-agressive, I tell them. Again and again. No matter, next time they can’t be bothered again.
Either they are doing it on purpose, which sounds unreasonable, or I am invisible. I don’t want to be invisible.

They are not gray! Not even remotely! They are silver. And not a few. And sparkly and pretty.

(and this is not a direct quote, because I’ve read it in Hebrew and I’m “un-translating” it) that anything that exposes real passion is, by definition, uncool.
He also made many more interesting and accurate observations in that same article which are less relevant here, but also, that “liking” – specifically, as is represented in the action of “like”ing – is avoiding the commitment and vulnerability of loving. Sort of. I can’t phrase it as well as he did.
So… does the fact that I am uncool because passionate, mean that I am not liked by the many, but am loved by a few? That makes me feel better (but I still wish there were a “few” more).

It’s very hard for me. Not because I value cf&i over other traits that I do have (those pretty much sum up to “kind, compationate, intelligent and a good listener”), but because other people do. As a result of that I have no friends and am very lonely.