I have terrible self esteem for being as amazing as i am.
The other night I got drunk and cried on a friend. I’m not entirely sure why I started crying, I was really really drunk.
But the next morning when I was informed of my tears I had a vague memory of feeling really ugly. I had a recollection of saying something low-self-esteemy and of my friend agreeing with me.
There’s a big part of me that can walk into the room and just be the most beautiful, competent, amazing person in the room. As Amanda Filipacchi says of writing herself beautiful:
It started out as a detail, an incidental attribute I playfully bestowed on my main character on the off chance that it might rub off on me, if not physically, then maybe at least psychologically—which would be almost as good. After all, finding oneself beautiful when one is not: Is that not the next best thing to actually being beautiful?
And there is an EQUALLY sized part of me that walks into the same room and knows I’m the most insignificant person who will ever be immediately forgotten.
And those two people live simultaneously inside me. Maybe that’s odd. Maybe it’s the most common thing in the world.
I don’t really know what to do with it.