I was in the bath running through my life these past weeks, when all there ever is is sleeping the week on end and killing my eyes the ubiquitous, modern way – sitting in front of the computer until my body screamed of its utter humanness, that I can’t run away from smelling like the dump… so anyway, I was in the bath bathed in all that sloth drama when I remembered this Sex and the City season one (which, I finished today, by the way) episode where the improbably perfect Carrie Bradshaw farts while in bed with Mr. Big and dashes out the room and wallows about the run-of-the-mill truth, that passing gas is one of the most human things in the world.

“He’s the perfect guy and I’m the girl who farts,” she complains, and worries it might be the reason Mr. Big won’t have sex with her. I’ve been there myself, having put sex atop my this-is-how-love-must-be hierarchy (among many other things, of course) and wondering whatever happened to sex in my relatively young relationship – one year at that – and worrying I may not be enough to keep that tingle coming and him on to me. Sadly, the worrying hardly ever remains at hoping he doesn’t leave me… it stabs my self-esteem until it bleeds of jealousy, which nags me all the time and consequently, results in me nagging the poor boyfriend.

I figure, this obsession with the idea of my partner leaving me because of the countless inadequacies living in my head stems from this delusion that I have to be perfect to be enough. And the reality that I am far from that sends me into this frenzy of “What if you leave me for someone you think is interesting?” “What if you meet someone really hot and he makes you really horny and he blows you off your sane, monogamous self?”, which is not good at all because he complains about me not giving him the benefit of the doubt and not investing enough faith and trust in him, both of which important in relationships, I agree. This persistent fear that I am not enough to make him stay is actually a significant reason for the constant fighting and bickering, that, sadly, I always start.

You see, it’s not easy being me and being the failure I think we could all agree that I am. At 20, I’m still nobody, struggling through life with a pervasive dread for the future, which never fails to shake me in public and make me sweat like I never bath. By the way I do, and I smell good most of the time, at least I’d like to think so. At 20, I’m the worst anyone at 20 could be, born with water pipes in lieu of pores (not that it’s my fault – earth calling God), and failing all attempts in combatting mediocrity, including taking music lessons and dropping out, writing what possibly is the worst blog in the world… You see, it’s so bad there has to be pretentious “I’m inadequate” subtext for a little sympathy.

Another sad thing about being me, and being every human being with self-esteem lower than his motherfucking Research Psychology grade, is the self-absorption, which detaches you from the natural tendency to feel with people. You think the world is all about you, that it would end if you died, that everyone cares if you fell of the chair and looked like the silliest thing that ever happened to their lives. Then it gets worse, you start avoiding people. You avoid crowds and walking down corridors because they’re all looking at you – worse, down on you. And ultimately, your life stops. You sulk in your bed like it was an inseparable part of your being until life passes you by and you’re 20 and you life is on a standstill and all there is left is guilt for the mess that you made out of the life you only get to live once. Of course, the jealousy (fed by feelings of inadequacy resulting from the apparent setbacks) continues to nag you, only this time, it screams louder, because it has proof that you are, inevitably (but not invariably – surprise!), a failure.

Point here is, jealousy speaks so much about how you feel about yourself. If you don’t feel good about yourself, you think the world is plotting against you all the time, ready to pound you for every inevitable mistake you make out of being human, and you doubt people’s intentions because you agree that you don’t deserve a wee bit of love in this life. Instead of weeping for that which you cannot be, like that Vogue model you think would give your boyfriend a better fuck, look into yourself and work on your weak points and strive to be a better person. That way, you can look into these magazine people without having to worry about not being “perfect” enough because you know you’re worth more than that.

 

July 22nd, 2010 by Edmundo Lee