You self loath all you want. Eventually someone will bitch slap you.
Yeah, and self-loathers are often the bitch that slaps themselves. It’s a vicious circle.
Yeah, when I was unable to deal with feeling bad about myself, I loved everyone who bitch-slapped me, because it just confirmed my own view of myself. It made me right, and who doesn’t want to be right?
I have to say that I love self-loathing. I embrace it. I do that because it becomes a kind of irony, which takes it’s power away.
I know some people who call this kind of thing a “hex.” Often times people will say something like “I’m a klutz,” fully expecting the other person to take pity on them and deny it. “You’re not a klutz! Really, you’re quite graceful.”
Hexers don’t say that. They just agree with the person who is dissing themselves. “I’m a klutz.”
“Yup. You sure are!”
I think the theory was that if people agree with you when you diss yourself, then you’ll stop doing it as a manipulative kind of thing.
Of course, if you’re really good, you can imply that you are dissing yourself without actually doing it overtly. It is more difficult to get hexed when you do that.
In any case, I got into this habit of tearing myself apart, and I never could seem to stop it. My way of depowering it is to make fun of myself—kind of—when I do it. Or maybe to try to be honest to myself that it is a form of manipulation. Although that makes me feel worse, so it’s kind of tricky.
The real thing I do is just to try not to pay much attention to these self-judgments. There are better things to do—it’s more fun to focus on interesting things. Self-judgment—it’s just kind of old. What purpose does it serve? It makes me feel bad. So I must do it because I want to feel bad. But if I’m doing it because I want to feel bad, then it doesn’t really work, because I’m manipulating myself, and yet seeing through my own trick. So then where am I?
If you’ve followed that, you’re a whole lot smarter than I am. I get confused about the inner twists and turns of my mind, and then it gets absurd. Which is funny. And then it’s kind of hard to think it matters—especially since I no longer have any idea what I mean.
I’m imagining myself in some really twisted yoga position, all tangled up and unable to entangle myself. What can I do? Nothing! Maybe I’ll go get a milkshake, and ignore the fact that I can’t do that.