Thank you for that very helpful advice. You noticed that I was insecure around men, and you gave me a piece of wisdom I’ll never forget – you told me to not be insecure around men. I’ll really try to keep that in mind. It’s something I’d never thought of.
However, I take issue with your justification – you suggested that I should cease with the insecurity because it was unattractive to men, and I’ll have you know – I don’t do it for men. I do it for myself.
There’s so little in this world I can truly claim as my own. Sure, I work, but I do that so I can pay my rent with minimal help from my parents. And yes, I enjoy my social life, but I also go out at the behest of my therapist who has suggested I need more social stimulation in my life. And while I enjoy watching television, I also find myself studying the shows analytically in the hopes that one day my Twitter will lead someone to offer me a job (in any field – that’s why I also post pictures of my microwaved mac n’ cheese – I could one day be a chef).
And yet, amidst everything I do for other people, I have but one refuge. One activity I consider only my own. One hobby no one can take away from me. When things get bad (or even when they don’t), I kick back, draw myself a bath, pour a glass of Kombucha, and hate myself.
It’s not related to men. I’ve been in extremely normal and not-terrible relationships and continued to want a smaller nose. Sure, when I was little, maybe I thought Prince Charming would sweep me off my feet and fix the timbre of my voice. But no, as I got older, I realized men couldn’t take away my insecurity – it would always be mine to treasure.
I’d like to say I came up with my insecurity all by myself, but I can’t ignore the media’s impact on it. Also, my mother’s. And Dove’s. But yet, as I look around at the life I’ve built, I may one day leave this sublet. I may move out of this city. I may stop dying my hair platinum blonde (unlikely, though, because I hate it, and I want to continue hating it), but I will never give up my insecurity.