I remember as I was growing up, the adults always said try your best. So, I did. But sometimes my best was not enough. Not to my way thinking, anyhow. I had to be better than anyone and everyone. I had to be better than the black kids, the white kids, every kid. Soon after, I had to be better than myself.
This way of thinking put me in some very stressful situations, and set off a pattern of thinking that was not only sick, but self destructive. I began to think that no matter what I did, I could have and should have done better. Getting a 95% on a test was unacceptable. It should have been a 98%. When that wasn't enough, it became that only a 100% would do. And if there was extra credit? Well, I went for it!
After a while, I began to turn that increasingly critical eye to my appearance. I have always hated my body. My hair wasn't long enough. My nose was too wide, and my eyes were too small. I wanted to be high yellow like my mom. And my body? Well, I was and am fat. I wore a size 13 in high school. It wasn't bad by any means as I look at some old pictures of myself. But, when all of your friends are like a size 10 and below, you stand out as the fat one. Actually, in high school, I was quite pretty. I didn't know it then, but a lot of people thought so, even the boys.
I didn't pay much attention to boys back then. I was scared of them. After having been molested as a child, and raped at 14, I saw all males as predators. I felt that way until very recently. I'm still intimidated by some men. But, for the most part, I just see them as people, just some of them are animals. I will never be attacked again. I will die first, and do all I can to take him with me.
I still feel in competition with people and myself. I ask myself every day if I have done my best. There are a few days, when I can actually say yes. Most of the time though, I have to say no. Like this week. I used my bipolar as an excuse to not work. I just curled up and slept. I told them I was sick, which I was. But, I'm not about to tell anyone here that I have rapid cycling bipolar 2 disorder and all the rest of my mental diagnosis. It's bad enough that I copped to having PTSD. I don't want to appear totally crazy. It's cost me enough already.
I am feeling better though. The fog lifted somewhat, and I'm not so tired. I think just taking these past few days to rest and take care of my needs helped. It may seem selfish and lazy to some, but fuck them. Living in my head for 24 hours would give them nightmares that they would never forget.
I guess I must admit, I am a bit lazy. Being unemployed for 10 years to working 10 hours a day is not an easy adjustment to make, especially in such a shitty year like 2020 has been. First, I lose my mom, then we cannot even celebrate her life because of this damn virus. We are on the verge of another statewide shut down, because people are being noncompliant with health regulations. Schools may not reopen, and sports may be cancelled because of it. Football without fans??? Where's the fun in that??
The nation as a whole is not trying it's best, but I am. I bought a sparkly pink reusable mask, so I am making a fashion statement, as well as doing my part.
So, am I doing my best? Sometimes, all I can do is get out of bed and wash my face. On days like that, you bet your sweet ass, I'm doing my best. On days like today, when I could be doing something more productive, no I am not doing what is my idea of my best. But then, there's the question. What is my best compared to what do I define my best to be? As I continue to unlearn old negative thinking patterns, this idea of my best is evolving. I'm learning not to put so much pressure on myself, relieving me from inner turmoil and self destructive behavior. So, is my new best not as good as my old best? Probably, but we shall see. I will try a little harder next week at work to make up some lost time, regain my footing and get my motivation back. I will just do my best.
Peace, Joy, Love- B
No comments:
Post a Comment