Start loving myself

You won’t belive and if you read on,you might think that I am insane.

I actually spend a few moments in a day to tell myself how much I love myself.Doesn’t make sense?It doesn’t matter.If you do,spend a few moments in a day to tell yourself what you love about yourself.

I telll each of my body parts,organs,muscles and everything,how much I sppreciate the fact that i have them and what are things that each of it had taught me.I find that when you really begin to love yourself,the people around you can feel it.You will find that the people around you will change the way they used to treat you.

Begin with the self.

I don’t know if going for a facial constitutes as loving yourself, but I think definitely loving my face! :) Went for a Dermalogica facial for 2 1/2 hours last weekend and it was fun and relaxing, although sometimes painful especially during the blackhead extraction.

Felt energised! Hope to do this more often…

I had a nightmare last night that my husband cheated on me again. I caught him kissing this girl that I used to be friends with back in elementary school. (I’ve seen her as an adult only within the last few weeks, not having given her much thought since then.)

I told my husband in the dream, “That’s it. I told you that if you EVER did this again, it’s OVER between us.”

He said, “I don’t care. I love HER. So this just makes it easier for the two of us to be together.” My heart sank… I was so devestated. Even though I have told him in the past that if he cheated again it’s over, he has sworn up and down not only will it NEVER happen again, but that he won’t even have ANY female relationships unless it is a member of his own family. (And he’s not particularly close with any of them, either.) He has been so wonderful and remorseful and just been a complete open book to me that I have no doubts that he’s 100% dedicated to US. In my dream, it was just such a slap in the face. I dreamt that I woke up and asked him, “Hey, did this really happen?” And he was like, “Yeah.” The “waking up” dream happened about 3 times. Each time I asked him, he got more irritated that I was asking him “again”. All I could think about was what I fool I am, and that we have a baby and one on the way….

I am mostly past this insecurity, I’m not sure why this is cropping up now. But I hate it when I have those nightmares.

I just ate an italian sub with the works (sub sauce, peppers, onions, etc), had half a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza and a whole can of Coke. I’m experiencing pain in my stomach region. The phobic is taunting me and singing, “You’ve got liver disease! You’re gonna diiiieeeeeeeee.”

The Armchair Shrink is telling me to RELAX, look at the FACTS and realize that YOU HAVE GAS.

Deep breath in…. and out. Now relax.

TrashOrTreasure is what I have aptly “handled” myself as on here. The reason for this being that old adage, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

I obviously can’t jump from feeling like I’m a worthless piece of trash to treasuring myself, but at least I can aspire to feel that way about myself one day. I try to allow myself to know that although I feel like I’m just garbage, that doesn’t mean that at least one other person in this world doesn’t treasure me. My husband, my child and (although I have a difficult time actually believing it, I’m sure that) my parents all treasure me.

Each person in the world has been hurt by those that they love. And the saying goes that “We always hurt the ones we love”. I’m sure I’ve done my own share of hurting others, however unintentional. Armed with this knowledge, I can at least logically wrap my head around the fact that I’m not a complete waste of oxygen, however much The Bitchy Teenager wants me to believe that.

I’m wondering if “Armchair Shrink” should be added to my list of voices… I tend to try to watch Dr. Phil, and read as much about self-help on the internet as I can get….

People-Pleaser here… With no replies, I worry not only that my thoughts and feelings in real life matter to no one, but that my words and innermost personal thoughts are lame and meaningless. Pathetic…..........

I want to preface this by saying that I’m not suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD). But I do have multiple voices in my mind. Multiple facets of personality that make me who I am and direct the way I feel and act at a given moment. For clarification, in case there’s a single person out there who cares to read this, although I doubt it, I will label these personalities so that you understand what I’m talking about.

Voice #1: The Bitchy Cheerleader
She’s the voice that comes into my mind and frequently out of my mouth when I’m having extreme feelings of self-loathing. When I was in the fifth grade, high school cheerleaders came to our school to teach the girls who wanted to learn about cheerleading, and then the girls who were interested were allowed to try out for middle school cheerleading. I stayed because it was something I was interested in. Two girls came and asked me what I thought I was doing there, because it was obvious that I* wasn’t going to become a cheerleader. I left at the first break, knowing it was stupid of me to try out, and went home. It’s this voice that always plays in my head telling me “You’re so stupid!” “What the hell were you THINKING?” etc.

Voice #2: *The Mom
This voice is the caring, loving, giving voice that says, “Honey, relax. You’re fine. You only made a mistake.” This voice tries to counteract The Bitchy Cheerleader, although more often than not, I’m not believing The Mom over The Bitchy Cheerleader. This is also the voice that provides love and comfort to others, not just myself. Funny how genuine I feel The Mom is when it comes to my loved ones, and yet how I can’t seem to believe a word she says when it comes to me.

Voice #3: The Phobic
I suffer (and I mean that) miserably with what I’ve finally realized is pathiphobia. This phobia is an irrational fear of disease. Of course, nobody wants a disease, but I go into panic mode ANY time I have ANY “symptoms” that seem to deviate from the norm. The Phobic has made sure that I stay awake throughout the night, shaking and nauseaus, worrying that I’m dying of some disease. The Phobic has convinced me that I’ve had AIDS, HIV, cancer, kidney disease, liver disease, brain tumors and even multiple sclerosis (although I have no idea what those symptoms entail, and PLEASE don’t tell me because I don’t want to know.

Voice #4: Misery
This voice never fails to remind me of what a shitty life I’ve led thus far. Misery reminds me of every rejection and every time someone has hurt me. Not to mention every loss I’ve ever had to endure. Sometimes Misery will start out sounding like The Mom, but then becomes so sad and morose. One image after another will replay, movie-style in my mind until I’m in tears. The pro of having Misery around is that usually she drives The Bitchy Cheerleader away. Unlike The Mom, when Misery tells me something is not my fault, I always believe her. We get indignant together, and sob sometimes for half the day. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I enjoy her company (although Misery does love company) but it can be a refreshing change from The Bitchy Cheerleader.

Voice #5: The People-Pleaser
The constant need to be validated and accepted seems to leave me always “giving” to others, and saying, “Yes” when many times I should say, “Not only ‘No’ but ‘Hell NO’”. The People-Pleaser constantly wants love, praise, attention, affection, acceptance and for people to tell her that she’s good and that she is wonderful. Of course, The People-Pleaser would never ask for this. She anticipates what everyone else wants, and feels sad that nobody ever seems to anticipate her needs. She won’t buy anything for herself, and goes without so that other people can have, because she hopes this will make her more valuable to others. She wants to feel worthy, and yet never seems to get that feeling, no matter who validates her or how often.

Edited To Add:

Voice #6: The Armchair Shrink
The logical, self-help seeking, “Okay RELAX because you are SO OVERREACTING”, voice, who reasons against the phobic. The Armchair Shrink is occasionally soothing, and is probably most of the reason I can say that I’m not totally insane… yet.

I saw that there is an option to learn to “Love myself rather than hate myself”. Yeah, that more sums up my situation. I actually do hate myself. Hate is a strong word. Which is why I chose it.

I can’t stand anything about me, and it’s completely and utterly tiring. It’s all I think about. Dr. Phil says that if you have a child and you love your child, you really can not hate yourself, because your child is physiologically YOU. So in order to love your child, you must love yourself. Not only that, but the child is what you have created with your own parenting, as well. I try to keep this in mind when I’m mulling over how fucking worthless I am… (Can I say “fuck” on here?) It’s just hard to remember when cheerleader starts judging me.

“To err is human, to forgive is divine”... These are words which resonate so deeply in my heart; so deeply in fact that just about any offense made to me, when coupled with a proper apology, is forgiveable. Even the person with whom my husband had an admitted affair, as well as my husband himself. I can forgive anyone. With the exception of one person that is:

Me.

I can’t seem to forgive me for anything in my past. I don’t honestly believe that anything in my past is unforgiveable by anyone else’s standards. Heck, even my own standards, were my “sins” committed by someone else. And yet, I can’t seem to let go.

My life is a constant mental punishment for all of my previous actions. Anything from the stupid things I’ve said (from the age I can start remembering, around 4 years old) to the mean things I’ve done (I’ve mostly led a “mean-free” life, but when I was too young to realize the impact of what I was doing, like picking on a little girl when I was in Kindergarten).

Memories plague me constantly.

When these little bits of memories stab the old scar and dig the knife that little quarter of an inch deeper into my heart, words pour out of my mouth before I can even realize that they are there.

“You’re such a fucking idiot!” I say. Out loud most times when I’m alone.

As soon as the words leave my lips, usually, I realize exactly what I’ve just said, and seemingly without my brain even consulting my mouth.

I try to have a healthy dialogue with myself afterwards. I’ve heard that it’s helpful to treat yourself like a young child, and so I attempt to heal the further bruising and scarring I’ve caused by saying, “No, you’re not. You just made a mistake that any person could have made. Don’t be so hard on yourself, honey. It was years ago, for pete’s sake.”

I attempt to try to believe these secondary words that I’ve spoken, but the first resonate the loudest. I don’t believe the soothing comfort I’ve just provided to myself. Instead, the first voice just rolls it’s teenaged eyes at the second maternal voice and sighs under its breath, “Whatever.”

How do I even begin to forgive myself when that overbearing, bitchy cheerleaderesque voice #1 is constantly on my case about not being good enough?