When I unpack my past relationships, I noticed a trend recently (okay, less than an hour ago) which I hadn’t noticed before, and that was not being good enough.
I wasn’t good enough for my ex because I embarrassed him.
I wasn’t good enough for another ex, because he downloaded Grindr to hook up with other people.
And I wasn’t good enough for a third ex, because he was embarrassed to introduce me to his siblings.
What does all this mean?
It means I’ve been rejected for my looks, my mind, and who I am as a person.
I was asked recently – why are you even still looking at your exes?
It’s not for any means of comparison. I already know they’re not in good places. It never has turned out that way and it never will, and nobody’s been the exception.
A part of me has still wanted to know why. It’s been a math puzzle that I can’t figure out. Like I can understand why you’d do better if you could do better.
But if you couldn’t, then what are you even doing? What was I doing when I let you into my life?
It’s an echo chamber where you wonder: do I blame you or myself? And I always blame myself, for thinking better of people, for setting my own needs aside for someone else’s.
For thinking I was good enough.
For thinking that actually mattered.
I’m still baffled by the funhouse of fake positivity that social media is, a cone of “omg you look great!” Real life isn’t like that. It’s a room of 100 doors, all closed, while you jam at the bottom of one of them with a letter opener hoping to slide through.
This isn’t a story with a happy ending. It’s a story of a fight with ghosts who aren’t there to respond, of unsettled conflicts and a proxy war in a vacuum.
Why should the opinions of the deeply insecure matter?
Because they should know better, of what it’s like to be punched down, of being marginalized.
But they don’t. They hit harder than anyone. You may never be good enough for them, but they’re never good enough for themselves.
And in a way it’s like trying to litigate with the dead – they’re not there to represent themselves, and you only end up dragging yourself closer to them in time and energy. There’s no use in surviving the war to consume yourself.
Instead, you’re left with the memories of being alone in a room with someone else, of the six hour arguments defending yourself to someone you’ll never win with. How could you ever win with addicts? How could you ever be stupid enough to fall into that trap?
How little do you think of yourself that their opinion matters?
