Hating myself is easier. It makes things less complicated. It's easier to put myself down rather than embark on the journey of complexities that go into lifting myself up.
It's easy to write yourself off (especially as a woman,) it's much harder to remember why your existence is special, and rare, and important. With every small inch towards a higher self-esteem there's another celebrity inspiring us to get our bodies "summer ready." Or a friend that we secretly envy and wish we could look like. With every slight step towards self love we're yanked back by bullies, shitty partners, and just about anyone else who wants to make us feel small. I am not going to wait for someone else to tell me what I already know deep down. Nobody should. No more waiting for peer approval, or validation from a significant other. Enough of depending on "likes" to remind ourselves that we fucking rock. It's time we do that ourselves.
I guess you could say I met someone. Exactly five months after my breakup, it clicked. For the first time in a long time, I remembered that I'm quite the catch. I'm fantastic. No, seriously, I am incredible. The idea that I was difficult to love was so deeply ingrained in me for years. I'm realizing now, that's bullshit. I'm difficult in general, but I'm easy to love.
I've always valued alone time. For years I've enjoyed basking in my solitude. The problem is, I never did it while loving me. I mean honestly, passionately, genuinely loving myself. So I've decided I'm going to do it now, the way I always should have. I'll be more kind to myself now that I've given me a second (third, fourth, fifth...50th,100th) chance. I'm dating myself, but I'll treat me much better this time around.
Being with myself is great. I'm so down to earth and very low maintenance. I never act sneaky or suspicious. I'm trustworthy. I don't cheat on myself. I don't yell at me. I don't constantly ask me for sex. I don't stand me up. I don't mooch off of me.
I'm so attracted to me. I'm the best I've ever had. I hit the spot every time. I know my weaknesses. I know my body. I make love to myself so passionately until I'm begging for more of me.
I take myself on dates. I always take care of the bill for me. Myself and I agree that dinner dates are corny and played out. We go to museums and jazz festivals instead. We discuss art, and politics and feminism. We lay in bed and read. We hold hands in my lap. Our fingers interlock perfectly. We are the perfect match. I am the perfect candidate to love me.
I'm falling so hard for everything about me. I keep coming back to me like Cory and Topanga did. I fell for myself unexpectedly like Zack and Miri did. I bring myself excitement like Martin and Gina did. I'm so amazed by myself. I'm loving, and beautiful, and hilarious. The room lights up when I step into it. I'm so intelligent. I'm so fucking intelligent. I'm productive. I'm one of the hardest workers I know. My conversations are stimulating. My awareness of social issues is intriguing. My ability to rap nearly ever Tupac lyric is impressive. My love for classical music is surprising. My sarcasm is sexy. My style is effortless. I can't be done again. I'm too unique to be copied.
There's so much of me to love. Don't even get me started on my body. No body has ever been identical to mine. No stretch marks shoot up the sides of hips, like flames, the way mine do. No breasts are marked, scarred, and uneven quite like mine are. My hands are warm and comforting. My tattoos have intermingled into my flesh and become one with me. And this smile, oh, this smile. It has survived the rockiest storms of self-hate.
I am falling in love with myself. Day by day. I can't stop it. I always feel the need to be around me. I crave myself. I no longer go a day without wanting to touch me. I rarely fail to admire my reflection. I have fallen so deeply in love with the woman in the mirror. She's been waiting for this.