I honestly think that my friends have no idea how truly high-maintenance I am. Maybe they're just dense. Maybe I don't let it show. I don't know. What I do know is that, as someone whose self-esteem could fit inside a quark, I need almost constant reassurance that, yes, I am a good singer and a good actress and a good writer and a good poet and smart and pretty.
Because, yes, I've heard it all before. Yes, sometimes I start to believe it. But you know what happens then? A small voice pipes up inside me, and it says, "Who are you to be so conceited? What have you done that you're justified in feeling important? What could possibly make you think that people like what you do, or even care? How is what you've done good enough to be shown to people? How is your voice good enough to be heard?"
In the end, what that little voice says boils down to is, "No one cares. You're not important or special enough. Shut up and let the better people go."
I'm getting better grades than my big brothers did at my age. I talk about it a lot. I laugh that since I have a higher GPA and ACT score than my oldest brother, I'll get into the college he got rejected from, and then maybe I can rub it in his face that I did something better than him. My parents get really disapproving and say that isn't Christian.
Ask me if I give a fuck, Mom and Dad. Ask me if I care that it's technically mean, when I know Matt'll laugh and congratulate me.
"But who says you have the right?" that little voice whispers. It's starting to sound a lot like Mom. Or maybe Dad. "Why do you think that, just because, by some fluke, you got a higher ACT score than the boys, you're smarter than them? Maybe they weren't well rested. Maybe they ran out of time and had to start guessing. Don't rub it in his face that you're smarter than him, because it isn't true."
Just this weekend, Neenie and I both had plays. Two different plays, two different places, the same days, the same times. Mom went to Neenie's opening night. Grandma and Grandpa went to Neenie's last show. No one came to my opening night. No one but Mom, Dad, and Neenie came to any of my shows.
When she said that only Grandma and Grandpa came, Neenie added that no one loved her. I shot back that none of our extended family came to my shows, and no one came to opening night.
"So what?" the little voice whispers. It definitely sounds like Mom and Dad together now. "It's not like you're as important as her. It's not like anyone cares. You had three lines. She had two whole songs to herself. You're lucky they showed up at all. Be quiet and be grateful."
Sometimes I wish that I never had to come home. Sometimes I wish I could go live with Smitty or Marissa or Stefanie, someone who loves me and tells me that they love me and assures me that I'm special and good enough and perfect the way I am. Then the voice whispers, "You don't deserve that. You don't deserve to be told that, even if everyone knows it's a lie. You need to feel that you're worthless."
And that's when I get fed up with it. That's when I call the voice out on it's bullshit, tell it to shut the fuck up, I don't care if I don't deserve it, I don't care if it's a lie, I want to feel special and loved and good enough, I don't give a rat's ass what my family says or thinks, and by God, I'm going to listen to my friends when they say I'm awesome and cool and pretty and smart and good enough.
But then no one says it.
