Control

Sometimes I just lose control. It starts as a stupid complain in my head, a small thing that doesn't even bother me but I feel I need to exaggerate it in order to show how there's something bothering me. That's when I lose control and everything happens so fast. The mood swings. From neutral to angry, from angry to sad, from sad to disgusting. I hate it, and the more I hate it the worse it becomes. I feel stupid, defeated, I feel I'm in a never ending loop that I've created myself. I feel disgusting. I hate myself. I consider suicide, I laugh at myself because I there's not even a good enough motif. I feel defeated, disgusting. I wish I could be the best at something. I realize it's only because I crave attention. I want to be needed, I want to be the one. I hate myself, I feel stupid. I don't even know what to do. I don't want to go home. I want to hide ten feet under ground and come out only when I've calmed down. I want to scream to certain people, I want to be left alone. I want to study and exercise and eat less. I just feel disgusting. 

Nothing unheard of

The first time I heard the word pornography was when I was about 10 years old. My cousin was in the car with me and my mom. She was older than me, she was probably 14 or 15 at the time (I don't actually know how much older than me she is). She was telling my mom something about the boy that I can now assume was "her boyfriend". Apparently he had been grounded because his parents found he had bought a pornographic magazine. My mom felt completely uncomfortable and just moved on the conversation with "oh no, that's awful", "oh well, I'm glad his parents found out". Once we had dropped my cousin at my grandparent's house, I asked my mom what pornographic meant. She has always been really awkward about the whole sex thing. This was definitely one of those times. She got a bit anxious and angry at the same time and limited her response to "it's a magazine where people are naked in it". Although that was the first time I had ever heard the word, let alone having it defined in the most painfully awkward way possible by my mom, I had already been exposed to pornography 4 years before that day.

I studied first grade in an all girls catholic school. I have memories of it, some of them pretty vivid, but all of it just bits and pieces. I remember the brown uniform, I remember sitting with one of my friends on top of a storage room to eat lunch, the first time I brought in some water with colorful jellies in it, having a change purse shaped as a soda can, scratching my knee playing volleyball... and going to the house of one of the girls on somewhat a regular basis by the end of the school year. All I remember of her is messy hair, a younger sister and a mother that didn't care. I liked going to her house because we would see naked women on her computer. She had been much further exposed to porn by the time she showed me, I think she had also been exposed to pornographic films because of what she would tell me. We, or at least I, pretended to find the images funny just to see more of them. We would open them in paint and pretended to draw funny things on them. Ever since I wanted to make everyone feel about me the same way I felt while watching this women, excited and anxious all at once. It only hit me this morning, 20 years after it happened, that I started feeling sexualized by the time I was 6.

By the time I was in fifth grade I wanted boys to want me. I don't know if it was hormones, media, beginning of sex-ed or just the combination of all of the above but by the time I was in fifth grade I wanted to be a stripper, yes you read right. I just wanted the boys to want me. Luckily for 5th grade me, I was perhaps the first girl in my class to get breasts. Somehow I felt validated for the first time, special, popular and attractive to boys, even if I had to put bandages before leaving to school the days I didn't feel like being made fun of by others. Fifth grade was also the time another friend of mine discovered internet porn. I loved it. I got my computer full of viruses and my mom completely infuriated about the whole thing. Ever since it's been a roller coaster of watching it, feeling guilty and cutting it out for sometime, then coming back to it with despair. I actually remember thinking how much I would like to become myself a porn star by the time I was about 16, I thought I would make it big time with my webcam and myself, ha-ha.

Because of this pursue of being sexy, I began caring too much about my appearance. By the time I was 15 I had already undergone laser treatment to remove unwanted hair from my legs, arms and face. I had already tried several different diets. I had tried convincing my parents about getting nose surgery. Ten years later I have already looked into getting a vaginoplasty. My whole sex experience is directly standardized by porn. Nothing you haven't heard of, I guess. Enough studies have been released regarding how pornography harms both men and women. However, it was a surprise for me. It was a surprise when I realized I didn't feel like being loved unless I followed some sort of imaginary parameters I had set for myself. Truth be told, it was a surprise for me because I have read the studies, the suggestions, the whole porn is bad shebang, but not only had I never accepted it was having an immediate effect in my intimacy, I also didn't want to watch it any less. I guess it's like when you're a smoker and you know you shouldn't do it, but you want to, even more, you have to. I just never thought that need would get to me, to my love life, to the person I love. Why would it? How could it? It just didn't seem fair. Life hadn't been fair. I didn't want to have anything to do with porn, I was exposed to it, it was unfair! It can't just come back to ruin what I love just because it's porn. Except of course, it had. Now I can only wait and see what the consequences are, what is the other person's response to my whole act because I hadn't waxed, because I had a sore throat and I couldn't be loud, because I didn't feel desired and sometimes, that's all I had to measure my self worth...

The game

I didn't feel like being there. I didn't want to be seen, judged, bothered. I didn't want to hear their voices giggling from the other side of the office. I was tired from their boring faces and usual complaints. I didn't want to put in the effort to appear happy, productive, overall an average person. 

I was tired. I was tired from everyone's expectations of me. I was tired of my own expectations about myself and school and life and the future. I was tired of being in love of an illusion of someone,  just to find out that I didn't love them after all, just the idea I had generated of them in my head. 

My office was surrounded by glass panels and desks. Not even the slightest hint of privacy there. Not even to hide my face in between my arms and shed some tears if I needed to. I had tried talking to someone about this. About these feelings. He just tapped my arm as if I were something that needed to be pitied. He laughed at the way I was trying to show despair. 

After all, what was I doing about this? I wasn't leaving. I wasn't even trying to ignore the whole thing. Sometimes I just got overwhelmed by these feelings and they stayed in my head, haunting me for days. I felt I didn't know anything. I felt my opinions were wrong. I was convinced of my lack of knowledge would be eventually found out. To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing. I was just trying to play along, pretending I belonged. 

Don't come bullshiting me saying that's just the good old impostor syndrome. Don't come telling me that perhaps all I needed was just someone to talk to. Some days I'm just so tired of people and I can't withstand them, I just can't. But at the end I actually could. After all I came back everyday, making my expectations higher and higher: today I'll get my work done, today I'll show everyone what I'm worth. Fuck off, I'm tired of this stupid game. I'm tired of having to sit down and listen to people complain, listen to myself complain. 

If I am what my thoughts are, then my smile is nothing but a scar on my face. I don't want to be my thoughts, brcause that's just terrifying. I want to be happy, I deserve to be happy and loved and tolerant with others and funny and pretty and smart...At least that's what I think. The only problem is that I can't be all of that for everyone, because everyone'sperspectives of those ideals are not even synchronized. I had to stop measuring myself up because it was killing me. But how else was I supposed to know my self worth? Tell me whatever you want, but it's hard not to care about what others say, think, do. I cared! I had to see their faces everyday. 

Somehow something changed all of the sudden. Someone walked by, ignoring me and at that time it all felt right. As if it were all just in my head. After all, it was all just in my head. Suddenly my breath became calm again and I felt ready. Ready to start playing the whole game again. 

Just another day

I felt naceous. I could hear the ventilation going. The room didn't feel hot, it felt as if we were stuck in time instead. I could really feel my stomach. I kept on wishing to be alone. In front of me a girl whose hair kept on falling in top of my notebook. Next to me a guy who insisted on talking to me despite having the speaker directly facing us. Behind me two guys I wish I hadn't invited to be there and the rest of the places filled with people I just wish could disappear. Perhaps it was easier just for me to be gone. 

I went back to my office and I felt the same about the people there. Why were they there? One of the guys working seemed to have what could have been easily mistaken with pneumonia, yet he refused to leave, as if having to stare at his computer became easier at our office rather than his house. 

There were just too many days like these. I didn't like anyone. I wanted to be alone but not completely alone. I wanted to feel loved and understood and be able to lay down, leave all my armament behind. I was just so fragile. I wanted to feel strong. 

I kept on waiting for it to be 6pm. The door rang unexpectedly. Someone pretending to be nice to me made me feel better. I like being falsely nice to people as well. At the same time I hated people who were falsely nice. 

Perhaps it wasn't just the conference room that was stuck in time, there are just way too many days like these. 

I'm never popular

My opinions commonly get overheard.