I don't think many of you will like what I have to say in this post, but I am just being honest. Believe me, I don't like what I say in this post too much either.
The Webster's Dictionary website lists nine different definitions for the word strength. I've been told multiple times that I am strong for surviving what I've been through. That I have shown strength in my ability to persevere. I don't know if it's because of how much I just don't like myself, or what it is, but to be perfectly honest I just don't agree.
I don't see myself as strong at all. I never have. When Mark was arrested for molesting another kid after I got away from him, all I felt was shame. I was ashamed I didn't report him earlier, and that he was able to do to another kid what he'd done to me. I was too ashamed to testify in his trial, because I knew if I were to testify my family would find out everything that I'd been through. I was ashamed to still be alive, to be completely honest.
I would never have described myself as strong then, and I wouldn't now. Yes, I still wake up every day and go through the daily routines of life. I go to work to provide for my family. I create friendships. I exist. I do what billions of people do every day. But I also lie to myself daily. I hide a massive part of myself from the woman currently lying next to me. I destroy friendships for no reason. Or if not destroy, then at least put massive amounts of unnecessary strain on said friendships. I've done that several times in the past few weeks alone. One friendship appears to have survived my bullshit. Another, I'm honestly not sure about yet.
I hate being me. I hate myself more than words can express. To be completely honest, I felt like that even before Mark molested me. I've just never been a fan of me. One of my two current counselors or therapists or whatever recently asked me to list everything I like about myself, no matter what they were. My complete list was my eyes, my ass, and my dick. That's it. And no, I am not trying to fish for compliments or any bullshit like that. Those are the only things I like about myself. It's no mistake that they're all physical attributes, because my personality or emotional or whatever attributes are absolute crap. I cannot stress it enough. I don't like who I am.
That to me does not seem like strength in any way.
The only time I ever feel even a little bit strong is when I am dressed in drag. The same counselor/therapist asked me what I like about myself when I'm dressed up. That list was a bit longer. Same three things, with the eyes, butt, and penis, but also I like how my legs look in stockings and tights. I like that dressing as a woman makes me feel sexy, which I had never felt before. I feel more confident. My self esteem is much higher.
But at the same time, I feel like a fraud. I can't tell my wife about any of this because she has already told me she would never be comfortable with me cross dressing. The only thing she says she would ever be comfortable with is me wearing panties. She is also fine with my toenails being painted, and she is usually the one who paints them because I can't reach them too easily. But if she was aware I wear her dresses or that I bought myself some tights, she would flip the fuck out.
So I am living a big lie, just as I was when all the other stuff was happening. I'm simply not hiding this as much as I hid being molested. I am, however, hiding it from the person I care about most. Again, this doesn't seem like a sign of strength to me.
Nor does this lovely tendency to cry that I've developed. During a conversation with a friend last week I started crying. She later told me not to feel embarrassed, that it was a sign of strength. I understand her meaning, in that allowing myself to show my vulnerability and let my guard down took strength, but it really just felt weak.
I know I'm too hard on myself. I know I don't give myself credit for accomplishments or positive traits, and that I am harsh and overly critical of any tiny mistake I make or flaw that I see. It's something I've tried to work on with every single therapist I've ever seen, yet I feel like I'm getting nowhere.
I feel like I'm rambling and lost any direction this post had. Maybe I should just shut up. I dunno. It's late and I'm exhausted and as usual I am trapped in my own head. But I'm also being brutally honest.
Today's title is from "Strong Enough" by Sheryl Crow.
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