I'll Get Better

One of the greatest challenges I’ve had to face in my life is a common issue with many people: low self-esteem. For years it was an inner turmoil that often exposed itself as nervousness and self-loathing, both mentally and externally. But to quote John Cleese, “I got better.” 

Well, for the most part anyway.

Today, though my self-esteem is much higher than it once was, there are aspects of the past that continue to plague me. Certain aspects of my past refuse to be forgotten, constantly finding ways to grab hold of a gap in my inner defenses whenever possible. The most annoying of these break through during simple interactions that many people wouldn’t think twice about. Despite having moved beyond the most debilitating of my inner demons, I so often have a grave feeling of being judged.

Judged by whom? It depends on the situation. If I’m at a wedding reception or club with my wife where people are dancing, I often can’t bring myself to dance. Before I even approach the floor I imagine everyone’s eyes suddenly fixated on me, dancing awkwardly and “looking stupid”. Outside of a crowd, I fear negative judgment from new friends and colleagues, that they won’t like me or enjoy my presence. Even when absolutely nothing negative occurs while together, I get a feeling that the others are simply “tolerating” me.

Why, as a 26-year-old adult, do I let these things bother me so much? For that matter, why do I even let such thoughts enter my mind? A large mixture of events and conversations, each pretty insignificant by itself, piled into a giant heap of insecurity and disgust that just won’t go away completely. Like December snow in Minnesota, it just keeps piling up and never seems to go away.

Silly, insignificant events…

At a high school football game, I had coins thrown at me as I walked by the opposing team’s bleachers. I restrained my fury and simply flipped off the section of people that had thrown the coins. A few days later, as I walked up to church, I was stopped by someone I considered a friend at that time.

“Why did you raise your middle finger at people at the game?”

“They were throwing stuff at me.”

“That’s no excuse. What kind of Christian are you?”

Judged. Put down for showing the slightest act of defiance to protect my pride. I’m human and humans make mistakes. Humans also get angry when other humans hurt them. Am I not allowed the right to be angry? No. Every time I step out of bounds I’m judged and I forsake who I am. Or I forsake my religion. As a Christian, aren’t I part of the religion, and therefore forsaking myself?

On spring break with a group of friends, we met some girls that we hung out with most of the week. Several of them “paired off” and seemed interested in all the guys but me. When one of them identified me as the “loner”, she helped point out what was wrong with me.

“We all think you’re really really cute, but you don’t talk enough!”

I’m boring. I listen, but by not driving a conversation I’m left behind. Silence is always awkward, and everyone hates awkward silences. So when I don’t talk, I fail. But if I don’t have anything to say, am I intrinsically a failure?

I go to a club with a friend while we’re on summer vacation. A girl grabs me and I try to dance, only to be met with her mocking laughter as she bluntly says…

“That’s not how you dance!”

She moves away to someone else and leaves me alone on the floor. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on me as I walked off the floor and tried to blend into the shadows like an invisible wallflower.

“That’s not how you dance.” I didn’t know how to dance. I don’t know how to dance. No one ever taught me. I’m told that it only matters if you have fun. How is it possible to have fun when you’re laughed at for not being able to do it correctly? Why does everyone look at me if I even approach a dance floor? Why is everyone watching, waiting for me to start moving awkwardly and make a fool of myself?

Little, tiny, insignificant events that should mean nothing; but they do. Though not as much as they once did, they do. So what to do?

I work on it.

I write about what bothers me. I talk to my wife about how I feel without fear of being judged. I cherish my friends, new and old, that like me for me. I replace the old “friends” with new, real friends that give a damn about me and that’s all that matters. I work on my family life, my personal life, my professional, spiritual, psychological, and artistic life. Though the bad is near impossible to let go of, it won’t be around forever.

“I got better.”

…and I’ll get better.

My Dead Twin - A Painful Reminder

Perhaps the title of this blog is a bit confusing, even a bit unsettling.  I'm not sure how widespread the saying is, but referring to one's "dead twin" in my family means you're talking about embarrassing pictures or videos from when you were younger.  Say for instance, you find a picture taken when you were eight years old wearing a pink dinosaur costume with ribbons (and you're a boy); or you're wearing an embarrassing dress at an age when you were fairly overweight.  One might say that the person in that picture is not them, but rather "my dead twin."

Why would we refer to ourselves in such a way?  When we see that image, it brings up memories that we no longer associate with ourselves.  You may be fit and athletic today, but in that picture you were lucky to fit in X-Large or even XX-Large shirts.  You may be a fashion guru today, but in that video you were wearing overalls with dirty matted hair.  You see that image, that image of someone you no longer recognize, and you laugh at that person.  He or she is dismissed as little more than a stranger you never want to meet again.

As strange as it may sound, I believe this is normal behavior.  You're leaving the past where it belongs: in the past.  Whether you say it's a "dead twin" or leave it without a name.  You see it, laugh at how silly it is, and move on.

...and I wish I could do that too.

I recently had my family send pictures from when I was younger so that I can put them in a video for my wedding on June 12th.  I had mixed emotions while looking through them, to say the least.  There were many that made me smile, others even made me laugh.  Let's face it, I was a cute little guy.  But then certain ones would pop up with reminders of embarrassing moments in my life...embarrassing things I did, how fat I used to be, how kids made fun of me, how insecure I used to feel every day of my life...and those memories just wouldn't go away.  I couldn't convince myself that this person I was looking at was someone else.  The person in those pictures is who I used to be...who I still am...someone I try to block out of my mind, but always seems to find a way to invade my thoughts again and again.

Why do I let these things bother me so much?  Why can't I leave these things in the past?  Why does looking through a bunch of old photographs leave me feeling tired and exhausted, why does it leave me with a headache hours afterward, and why do I feel disgusted looking at pictures of myself?  I wish I knew.

There are times I'll be driving in my car, sitting at my desk at work, even just laying in bed...and the memories will show up.  Something I said in middle school that made another kid call me stupid and laugh.  Stupid "cute" things I did as a little kid that I completely forgot about at one point, but someone in my family would remind me and now they won't go away.  Sometimes those memories go away as quickly as they came.  Other times they leave me unable to focus.  At times just a few seconds, others I spend a minute or two trying to fight it.  Then sometimes at night just before I fall asleep...one memory snowballs, bringing more and more embarrassing memories along with it, until my head is little more than an overstuffed vacuum bag ready to explode.

Maybe one day I'll be able to finally leave it all behind, to "bury" my "dead twin" and move on.  I've been trying for years, and it's getting better all the time.  Sometimes that's just not fast enough though.  I want those memories to go away, never to return or rear their ugly head into my business ever again.  Now.  Not in a week, not tomorrow.  Now.  I want to cherish my memories, not despise them.  I want to enjoy who I am and what got me to where I am today.

I want to live without the painful reminder of what came before.