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2002-03-17 - 10:57 p.m.
I tell people about my insecurities. Some people find it endearing, or they are relieved that someone else feels just as bad as they do. Other people hate me for it, and the more i tell them, the more i explain, the more they hate me.
I find that destroying oneself in front of others is a good way of making friends. People stop being afraid. They start out believing they are worthy, and they cut out the "lets impress her with my knowledge of _________" bullshit. But it also turns out that most of my friends have "self-esteem issues" and are only friends with me because I make them feel better. So most of my friendships are comparable to say: pulling out my hair strand by strand. This makes life methodical, predictable and utterly boring.
So i guess i should change things. I guess i should stop revealing my secrets. Guess i should "exhibit more positive self-esteem."
BUT
Face it kids, you wouldn't like me any more if i did. In fact, you would like me less because what you like about me now is that i seem to be as broken as you. You like that i will love you when you are dumb and ugly and afraid. You like that i will be there when you are weak and that i won't judge you for your mistakes. No one likes people who are smarter, faster, funnier, sexier or more talented than they are.
So now you can all sit around and feel good about yourselves because chances are i am no smarter, faster, funnier, sexier or more talented than you.
But you were worried when you met me, weren't you?
You thought i would care that you are missing teeth and that you got a 900 on the SAT and that you have dimpled thighs and that you are allergic to yams. You thought that i wouldn't be your friend, that i would never see your reptilian beauty, your talent for knitting or witness your unwieldy magic with power tools. You thought i would never kiss your earlobes and i would never look into your eyes and i would never believe in you.
Why did you ever think that? Did i really have to strip myself bare before you trusted me?
But it turns out there is a method behind my madness: If I tell you about fear, i can't hide anymore. I have to face you, and myself, and the hideous progeny of my inner self. The more i tell you, the more i grow. So I'm standing here, naked and fucking cold, and everyone is yelling "Take Off Your Clothes!!!" and all i can do is gaze back with "??????????????!"
The truth is that i WANT to talk about it. I want to figure out why i make mistakes and then i want to make different ones. I want to hear about your fears too. This doesn't mean i don't want to hear about your talents, your jokes, your sexiness or your genius. I WANT IT ALL. for myself and for you too. I want it to be real. because let's face it, i'm only going to be around for another 80 years or so and there's really no point in holding back.