I usually don’t post TikToks here but this one hit hard. This is what growth looks like. We meet people for a reason, and we get hurt for a reason; to show us that we are capable of being broken and still get up and rise up. I have to love me before I love someone.
Imagine a man; featherless, bipedal, pretty standard. This one has pale skin, black hair with a slight widows peak, and eyes so dark he looks like he has nothing but giant pupils. He has a faceful of freckles which looked much cuter when he was a kid, and two small moles, one on his lip, the other on his neck.
Picture him taller than average, but not exceptionally so; 6′3″, 6′4″ with shoes on, sub-basketball player height. Now give him a terrible hunch. He loses a good three or four inches from posture so bad that chiropractors make appointments to see him. He locks his knees when he stands so his legs curve backwards, which just looks uncomfortable, and he always leads with his gut hanging out; his spine looks like Trogdor the Burninator (sans beefy arms, wingalings, and consummate v’s, of course).
What he lacks in basketball player height he makes up for in basketball player feet. Just look at those clod hoppers! He has to order all of his shoes online because most stores only carry up to size 13. Last he checked he was a 14 and a half, 15-ish, but nothing he tries is comfortable because he’s got flat feet, like a dirty, draft-dodging communist! The way he walks is just wrong somehow. He regularly wears out the back of his shoes, right over his Achilles tendon. He has to pad the worn chunk of plastic and foam with duct tape to make them last longer, because size 15′s are not cheap!
His wardrobe consists mostly of t-shirts and khaki shorts, but these don’t seem to fit him right either. Sure, he’ll buy nice clothes every year, but they all seem to change size between the mall changing room and his house, or otherwise disappear (his dad probably co-opts them into his own wardrobe, the bastard). He is somehow both lanky and portly at the same time; thin arms and legs, with a big beer belly paunch over feminine hips, though he doesn’t drink. His khakis are all too loose and too short; they come to above his knees when he sits, and he has to wear a belt cinched tight to keep them from slipping down to his ankles.
His shirts are comically large because men’s clothes get wider, not taller, when the size goes up. He has to wear an L or XL, which are the right length, but make him look like he drank Alice’s shrinking potion. His only other alternative would be to wear a shirt that is the right circumference, but bares his midriff whenever he moves his arms.
His fingers are the stuff of nightmares; the nails are either crack addict long or chewed down to the bloody stump. He’s apathetic about this, he just lets them grow until they start getting caught on stuff, then he bites them off so short it hurts. He doesn’t like cutting his thumbnails because they’re thicker than the others and they hurt the most when they’re short. He has a weird sensory problem so that whenever he cuts them with clippers they feel artificial, unnatural, uncomfortable, so he has to chew them down or go mad.
Left alone for long enough his hair starts looking like Eraserhead; his hair doesn’t get longer, it gets taller, but not in a cool mad scientist kind of way. It’s super curly and thick, so it never looks good no matter how he brushes it. Not once in his life has he ever had a decent haircut; every single barber he’s ever been to has given him the exact same Deep South chud cut like one of those beefy dudes who pose with fish in their facebook profiles. No matter how many times he shows them photos and asks for something different, he still gets the Standard Chud for $15, $20 after tip. Whenever it’s cut that short, it makes his head look like an egg. “WE ARE FROM FRANCE.” His hair always looks best a week or two after getting it cut, but he never takes pictures in that little window because he is oblivious and self-loathing.
The less said about his facial hair, the better.
I’m going to say more anyway.
Both of his grandfathers had long, thick beards. His father has a long thick beard. He, however,is incapable of growing anything that looks even remotely presentable. He can grow a short, coarse, curly neckbeard that looks like pubic hair, a thin pencil mustache like a creep who lives in a van, and patchy sideburns that cover random spots on his cheeks. His chin is bare save for the thinnest saddest wisp of a soul patch that he can’t see, but he can feel. Oh, It’s there, mocking him. Altogether, it could not be a less flattering combo, but he often goes weeks without shaving because in These Trying Times™ he figures nobody’s gonna see his face anyway. His depression lets him justify his “why should I make my bed if I’m just gonna sleep in it again” argument about his entire personal appearance. Yikes.
His arms and legs are covered in scars and dark spots because none of his cuts ever heal right. He would wear pants to cover them, but he lives on the surface of the sun where it’s about a million degrees in winter, so pants are not an option unless it’s a formal occasion, which are few and far between because his hometown is a cultural wasteland with nothing to do and no one to see. His legs are disproportionately long, so he looks like he’s striding with purposeeverywhere he goes. His normal walking speed is ever so slightly faster than whoever is walking in front of him, so he either has to awkwardly slow down which makes him looks like he’s following them, or speed up to try and overtake them, but he’s not going fast enough to do it quickly so he ends up walking next to them for a few seconds too long which is even worse AAAHHH
Eye contact is weird. Too much, not enough, he can never tell. He tries to keep his head down with the prey-instinct that if he can’t see them, they can’t see him, which results in a chronic case of Text Neck. When he walks past someone, he locks his neck straight forward so as not to make eye contact, which is almost always the WRONG thing to do because it comes off as rude, which he only realizes much later.
He overthinks everything and comes across as pretty sus because he’s trying to judge how everyone else pictures him on the fly; he doesn’t want to be rude, so he tries to leave everyone alone, but more often than not that makes him look cold and angry. His worst fear is that people of color will think he’s racist when he doesn’t look at them, or looks at them too much, or gives them a wide berth, when in reality he does that to everyone because being seen makes him uncomfortable, and he can’t stop from feeling guilty about living in his own head because he doesn’t want to keep thinking the way he does, which is to say TOO MUCH!
And to round out his insecurities, he has a big gap in his front teeth and his voice sounds like a nasally child trying to compensate for a speech impediment.
But you know what, his grammy says he’s a handsome young man, so he’s actually doing okay.
I complimented a story a girl in my class wrote because I really enjoyed it, and I already feel my stupid brain trying to tell me I did it wrong. there is no wrong way to say “I loved your writing!” I was brave, I said what I wanted to say and I’m not letting my anxiety ruin that for me!
bitter pill: I wish I knew how to take a compliment. I run away from people who say kind things because I don’t feel like I deserve it. (thanks, childhood! so dope…) What do I say back? Do I say thank you? I’ve tried that before and was accused of being arrogant, conceited. I feel awkward and confused. This is like the one thing that can’t be found via google search. I will get through this though, with or without help. And when I do, I won’t turn my back on people who are stuck in this hell. I never want to be that asshole who says,”If I can do it, so can you.” Or worse, the ignorant asshole who goes on about “protecting their energy” whenever someone comes to them seeking lifesaving advice. That is just pure cringe to me. How dare! Life is too short for all these god complexes. Our world could have a modicum of less suffering if we weren’t so cold and condescending towards each other. I refuse to give in just because it’s hard.
“if only they see how i feel and if only they saw how happy it makes me.”
sometimes people are just not meant to understand, but it just gets difficult when the people that want you happy, which is most likely those who you’re closest with, don’t see the happiness you’re talking about.
it sucks when you want to share your happiness but you don’t see the point in trying because it’s a brick wall with those that can’t see it.
this also causes you to unconsciously begin to please others than yourself, which takes away your happiness.
Trauma things #121: You know too much about narcissism and how it has affected you, so you are paranoid about not appearing narcissistic. You avoid compliments and you are fearful of acknowledging your knowledge, talents, and skills.