Modesty

I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate like… GAH!

My standards are too high. Sure. Known problem. No biggie.

But modesty means it’s wrong to be or feel special. You’re supposed to be modest, not confident that you’re pretty or smart or sexy or talented or skilled or anything that makes you better than anyone else because you’re not special.

Or, at least, I’m not.

I don’t know where the fuck this came from. I really don’t. I sorta do, I suppose. But, not really? I don’t think.
But it’s fucking killing my ability to actually get to where I want to be, stay where I want to be. The fucking insecurity is gnawing.

I can keep it together when I can get to the point when I can allow myself to be proud of myself, to know I look good, to show the fuck off. What throws me? The disapproving stares of people who would prefer I were a little fleshier so that they can feel better about themselves? Or is it just in me, and after a bit I break down and realize I’m really not all that special, or if I am that I shouldn’t be.

I fucking hate the words that I’m so/too small. For all I know the constant repeating about how little I am (usually accompanied by envious comments) is what made me give the fuck up. Not only let myself stay good enough, but to actually backslide, because I’m too good. Because like I’m somehow supposed to be modest and downplay all accomplishments, successes, etc. Like the fucking models who offset the comments about how beautiful they are by talking about how geeky/nerdy/ugly/gangly/whatever they were growing up.

Should it make me feel better that that means it’s not just me?

NO!

I mean, come the fuck on. You watch a “What not to Wear” and like 9 times out of 10 it’s some fucking mom who puts herself last and doesn’t care about herself or how she looks because it’s not important, her family/friends/whatever are. These are also the same retarded women who use the excuse that their husband “likes long hair” as to why they can’t change their hairstyle. (This, I usually wonder… is it just an excuse because they’re too pussy to fess up to not wanting new hair/being too afraid? Or are they really so damn retarded as to think that there’s the possibility their husbands won’t love them anymore because they hacked off 3 inches.)

But here’s the thing. You’re allowed to look ok. Especially if it’s appropriate to look good, say at work. But you’re not allowed to KNOW you look good. That’d be immodest. And if you wanted to look fantastic and revel in it? Fuck off unless you’re some bitch-assed twiggie model.

I have a metric asstonne of pictures of myself. I hated taking pics when I was younger. I certainly hated taking pics when I was fat. I hated school pics, snapshots, everything. Bad facial structure and teeth for a good pic most of the time, not to mention the red-eye. Then, I started taking pics and letting Otto take pics. Shitloads because it takes 12 to have a pic in which I don’t think I look like a total doofus. So I looked through them.

At the time I was relatively unsatisfied with them and myself. I was still imperfect, and I have this mile-wide perfectionism streak in case you haven’t noticed. Now I just see some chick, who sometimes doesn’t look like me because she looks good, in a place I want to be, imperfections and all.

Noone was in the same place I was. Noone I knew personally worked out, worked hard to look good, nothing. Just felt like I was surrounded by people who wanted it but didn’t really because they didn’t want to work for it. Or something.

I don’t fucking know. I really don’t. I keep trying to figure out what the hell that is in my head that keep driving me to just toss it after a bit. Fear of failure, non-belief of success, standards impossibly high, or just giving in to feeling bad for not looking like the rest of the people who don’t give enough of a shit about their bodies to put down the beer and walk away from the twinkie.

Some? All? None?

Just a lazy shit who doesn’t want to do it anymore?

Wish I fucking knew.

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