self esteem

Believe It To See It?

~ Jessi ~ Leave a comment

I remember even as a kid I thought too much. I used to wonder if what I saw in the mirror was really what I looked like. or if my cp affected how I viewed myself and no one had the heart to tell me. That’s a weird thing for a child to think, which is probably why I never told anyone. I’m curious about that theory again.

My self-image has been so pore lately. I pick myself apart like buzzards do with prey. Is my mind a predator, and I’m the prey? As I just had that epiphany, I realize how utterly messed-up it is. Your mind is everything. If its against you, then what?

I went and had some photos taken today because my parents wanted “senior pictures”. The photographer is a friend so she thought it’d be cool for us to do them in front of the graffiti walls downtown. I had anxiety, which is nothing new. She kept on showing me pictures as we went. She kept on telling how “gorgeous’’ I was. I DON’T UNDERSTAND. I don’t understand how everyone else can see such beauty, and I see such…such flaws. I speak, I believe that differences make you even more beautiful. Why can’t I seem to believe that about myself? How am I supposed to make people view me as being perfect the way that I am, if I can’t even make myself?

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The Greats

~ Jessi ~ Leave a comment

It’s weird how sometimes looking at myself is painful. Not really because I find myself hideous, but more like it doesn’t feel like I’m looking at me. I don’t know how to say this without sounding insane. Maybe part of me is insane. I mean, I have every reason to be. It’s not all of me, it’s just a portion. It’s like somedays mirrors aren’t mirrors. They’re windows; windows where I see someone familiar on the other side. Someone in my memories. God, this doesn’t make much sense. Writing this makes me think of people in history. Albert Einstein who saw equations that didn’t even exist yet. Benjamin Franklin who thought he could light a room with some wire and glass. Van Gogh who painted what his mind saw and who cut off his ear to try to stop the voices in his head.
Then I think “maybe being partially insane isn’t a bad thing. Maybe that’s what it takes to change history, to change how society thinks,…..and I feel better.