The Days That I Hate Myself

Last week, my husband told me a story he read online about a polyamorous girl who had a threesome with her husband and lady friend. Her husband had a big dick that the girl was never able to fit it inside her fully but her friend could, and her husband moaned in ways she never heard before. She walked away feeling insecure and unable to satisfy him.  

My husband told me this out of a “wow, this sucks for her but this has nothing to do with us” kind of way. It was just a sad story he read that he wanted to share. But I didn’t take it that way.  It triggered deep pain inside me. Even though the story had nothing to do with me or my situation, I felt like I was that girl. I was overcome with feelings of insecurity, inferiority, and inadequacy. Old beliefs started screaming at me: 

“Your only worth is in your body and sexual ability, otherwise you’re nothing.”  

“Your only worth is in your looks.”  

“You’re replaceable.”  

“There’s someone better than you just around the corner.”  

"You’re going to be abandoned."

"No one loves you.”  

"You're nothing.” 

I remembered all the times I was cheated on by boys who told me they loved me. I remembered the sexual abuse, emotional abuse and neglect that made up my childhood. I started sobbing in the Taco Bell drive- through in my fancy clothes and makeup. I was dressed up because I was going to work, had a meeting and job interview but I immediately felt overexposed- unworthy of my pretty outfit. 

My husband was very sweet to me and tried to comfort me the best he could but the reaction was so deep seated, there wasn’t much he could do. He gave me so much sensitivity, warmth, and loving words but I couldn't hear him, not really. I was able to pull myself together for the bus ride but as soon as I sat down at my desk at work, faced with a list of boring, menial tasks. I lost it. 

I went to the bathroom and sobbed for about 30 minutes, not even understanding why at the time. I tried to be kind to myself but I had fallen too deep down the hole and I was stuck.    

There was a part of me, the part that had only known cruelty, clung to self-loathing and rejected any compassion I tried to give. I tried to breathe deeply and I'd calm down after a couple breaths but then another waves of tears would fall over me then I'd fall apart. I tried to be be objective and nurturing. "This isn't really happening to you, no one is leaving you. I'm sorry you feel this way but this is just a trigger." But that sad child self wouldn't hear.  

Reality fell away from me and  I was back in the hell that was my life when I was 12, before I was told that how I was treated was wrong. Before therapists taught me about C-PTSD and self talk, back when all I knew was my mom either ignoring me or calling me a worthless little shit. When the kids at school told me I should kill myself because I was ugly, when four different boys at school sexually harassed me- sitting on me, touching me, yelling obscene things at me. When the teachers did nothing when I told because there was no proof, and on top of it all being forced to go to the cult meetings three times a week where I was told I was shameful and bad.

My life back then was a gray hell that felt like an eternity. I internalized everything I had ever been told and believed it. All I felt was a deep loathing of my existence. Everyday I woke up wanting to find some light, some hope, but none came. There was only cruelty I didn’t understand but felt I brought it on myself.  I would’ve killed myself if I wasn’t so worried about who would find my body. I’m not alive because I had faith in my future, I’m alive because I empathized with my abusers to the point that I didn’t want them to have to clean up my blood. So, I settled for slicing my thighs open 50 times every night. It was the only coping mechanism I knew. I thought my life was normal. 

That got pretty dark, so here's a cat licking pizza. 

And I was back there. I felt all of that again. That eternal feeling of hell and self-hatred. I had urges to self-harm, which I didn’t act on but still alarmed me. And I had a job interview at 1:40. How was I supposed to talk myself up to a potential employer when I felt this so viscerally? All these feelings exploded out of me- like a volcano or really bad diarrhea.  

It doesn’t help that I have obsessive thought patterns. If something is deemed important, it runs over and over and over in my mind until I can find a way to record it on paper, or have another thing to obsess over. I think it’s a form of over mental preparedness and the fear of forgetting/repressing that causes this, but I felt even worse because I was powerless over my own mind. 

On top of feeling so pathetic, I felt ashamed that I couldn't hold it together at work. I started beating myself up for crying, which made me cry more. It’s these times where I need love the most, that I’m incapable of giving it to myself.  

Any words to the contrary of this self-loathing paradigm sounded like an absurd fairy tale not worth considering. I was unable to be nuanced, objective and intellectual. I was overcome by my emotions, preparing for abandonment that would never come.       

It was incredibly frustrating because I knew beating myself up wasn't effective. I knew I needed nurturing. I knew by attacking myself I was triggering my amygdala furthering this reaction. I knew there was nothing wrong with me and I was just being triggered, I knew I needed to validate myself and actively show myself that it was okay, that my reality was okay. But I just couldn't. 

There is a gap between theory and practice of self-care that I'm still learning to bridge. Since it was such a strong reaction coupled with the fact that I didn't have time to delve into it the way I normally would, I couldn't cope. I endured it until I could go home.  

In retrospect I have a lot of compassion for how I felt. I understand why that story brought up past hurts and I'm grateful for it showing me that I still need healing in those areas. It gave me a lot to think about.  

I'm also glad for how far I've come. That reality I went back to is no longer my present state. I've actively created a good life for myself and I'm not a defenseless child anymore even though sometimes I still feel like I am. I am getting better. Even about 8 months ago, going back to that reality was a nightly occurrence but now it's happening less frequently with more awareness. I'm healing. I'm learning. 

Self love is a process, a long arduous process, and I still have a long way to go. In the meantime I'm going to try to not beat myself up for beating myself up. 

P.S. I was able to some willpower out of my ass and make it through the 10-minute job interview. I got the gig! :)