What Do I Dislike About Myself?

So I was scanning through the blog and realized that this was a therapy assignment I never finished.  Given my current state of being, I think it’s one I need to revisit.  So here it is.

  1.  I dislike that I have a problem saying “no” to people.  I worry so much about hurting feelings that I have trouble maintaining boundaries.  I let people use me as a sounding board whenever they have frustrations, but it always comes around that they want something from me.  I have allowed myself to be pushed into situations that are causing me anxiety. Geeze, I think this one could go on forever.
  2. I dislike that I feel angry on the inside all the time, but I can’t seem to express it in a healthy way.  I suppress things I really want to say, because the only way I know how to say them would be unkind and hurtful.  Most people think I’m a nice person, despite the fact that I’ve told them I’m not.  I have mean, hateful thoughts.  I have masked my true feelings for so long, that I have learned how to speak so that I don’t sound like a raving lunatic.
  3. I dislike that I manipulate people, sometimes without even realizing I’m doing it.  I’ll want to say something mean or nasty, but instead I use passive/aggressive tactics and make someone else say it for me.  I’m so good at this, but I hate it about myself.
  4. I dislike that I am strong.  People see me as strong, someone who can take care of anything and everything.  And truth be told, if there needs to be a confrontation (and it’s something I feel strongly about), I don’t shy away.  But sometimes I just want someone to take care of something and not look at me to do it.  Sometimes I just want to be the one to be taken care of.
  5. I dislike that I am weak.  I have had to start medication for the bipolar again, which means I couldn’t handle everything in my life without breaking.  I constantly yearn for someone to take care of me.  I fake my way through life.
  6. I dislike that I am a fake.  No one knows I’m a fake, but I know.  I fake confidence.  I fake intelligence.  I fake a smile.  I fake everything.  I’m one hell of a customer service person, because nothing that comes out of me is what I really think–it’s all what everyone else wants to see and hear.
  7. I dislike that I’m a failure.  I’ve published two novels, but I don’t have the drive to publish more.  I’ve even stopped writing altogether.  I own my own business, but it’s not what I want to do–this wouldn’t be so bad, but the business is struggling.  My daughter has dealt with depression and anger problems.  She has no filter and says whatever nasty thing pops into her head.  My son has a disability and I don’t know how to help him be successful.  I worry for his future and his self-esteem.  I have failed everyone I love.
  8. I dislike that as I write this, I know someone is going to respond with something positive to try to make me feel better or minimize my negativity.  I dislike that no matter what anyone says, I will feel like this post is one of those “me, me, me” attempts to manipulate people into giving me attention.
  9. I dislike that I judge people.  Not all people, but many of them.  I dislike that all my attempts at empathy are empty and fruitless.

Okay, I think I have to stop for now.  Perhaps when I’m in a better frame of mind, I can revisit this, and work on changing some of the things I dislike.

Malcontent

mal·con·tent
[ˌmalkənˈtent, ˈmalkənˌtent]

NOUN

  1. a person who is dissatisfied and rebellious.
    synonyms: troublemaker · mischief-maker · agitator · dissident ·

    [more]
    rebel · rabble-rouser · discontent · complainer · grumbler · moaner · whiner · grouch · grump · bellyacher · kvetch · squeaky wheel

ADJECTIVE

  1. dissatisfied and complaining or making trouble.

The above is courtesy of bing, and it’s how I feel right now.

Life has been insane for the last few months.  My husband started this new “lifestyle” of healthy living–which I fully support, but has been making life difficult.  My kids, of course, are busy as always.  My grandmother went into the hospital a month ago for surgery because she’d been vomiting and losing weight for months.  A second, emergency surgery later, she has finally started to recover.  My whole family thinks I should be able to take care of everything and do everything.  My mother called me today crying because she doesn’t have her mother.

Somewhere along the way, I have lost myself again.  I’m not writing.  I have no energy.  I feel like the weight of the world rests on my shoulders.  I feel like no one appreciates the struggles I go through to do everything for them.  That doesn’t mean I want a pat on the back, or even a simple thank you.  What I would like is a little respect.  Respect the fact that I came home from work early to clean and make the house nice.  Don’t throw your things around, put them away or at least in an out of the way place.  Don’t snap at me over laundry because I took an hour to myself and napped. Don’t go out of your way to contradict me or question my methods when you have done anything and I have done all of it.

I have cooked to suit your new diet.  I have taken up all the slack when you want to do your thing–which I support because God knows, if you’re not satisfied and happy, no one can be.  I have supported you through every bad time that’s come down the pike.  But when something is going on in my family, you turn on me and say you’re trying, but you can only take so much.  I need to spend more time with you.

See.  Malcontent.  I am so unhappy.  I feel like the weight of the world is crushing me, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold it up.  I want to rebel and tell everything to fuck off, and in some ways I do, but no one takes me seriously.

The road is long and there is no end in sight.