Secure.

This morning I woke up with a new notion in my head.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot a lot a lot about insecurity; what it means to be insecure, degrees of insecurity, its origin, its genesis, its logic or lack thereof. I admit, shamelessly, that I’ve got a fair amount of this disease coursing through my veins. I make efforts to keep this on the down-low, but I’m not so naive as to think that it doesn’t rear its ugly ass head often enough to make it obvious to the people closest to me. And for the most part, I’m fine with that. I’m fine with the people that love me knowing that I have this fault, which they will and have told me is ridiculous, that I should get over it, and that it’s unattractive and even, honestly, pretty selfish. And of course it comes in a variety of flavors (I would be relieved to be insecure about only one thing, but no– it depends on the day, and the hour, and the trigger).

Because insecurity is itself something we’re ashamed of, I began to consider it from a new perspective. We like to think that, because we see a person from the outside, we are better judges of their being and character than they are. That we are somehow unbiased; we don’t think she’s fat or he’s got a big nose, we never notice her blemishes or his mismatched eyelids, so what the hell? Why are they so fixated on something so *obviously* untrue? We like to think that bashing them for being irrationally judgmental of some aspect of themselves makes sense; that if only they would just get over it, or up and realize that they’re being ridiculous, we could all move along happily with the self-mutilating thoughts of our friend/ lover/ colleague placed forever in a locked box, never to be reopened. We would like to think it’s that easy, that it takes a single epiphany or the right number of people telling them otherwise (after which we will be exasperated by their neediness, of course) to make them see. That it’s somehow a choice made by the person in question.

But I don’t think it is.

Sadly, I have often been the person saying “Jesus I wish he/she would stfu about X! They’re just trying to get attention!” But I’m starting to think, or rather realize, that we don’t choose to be embarrassed by ourselves any more than we choose who we fall in love with, or who our family is, or whether tomorrow will bring on rain. If it were something so simple and easily executed as a choice, I can’t imagine a world in which a person would choose to feel constantly terrible about themselves. A constant failure. Sure, there are people in the world who are drawn to misery, but I’ve seen, inside and out, just how devastating insecurity can be. It can be so powerful that it trumps love, friendships, truth, dreams, family, passion, and even life. I’ve watched the widespread: little girls starving themselves to death; beautiful women bleaching the culture right out of their skin; young men dropping dead mid-movement, their hearts stopped suddenly by steroids. These are scary and very dangerous realities. But more frightening, I think, are the explosive and far-reaching detriments that a single insecurity can have on a person’s mind. Like a fungus, an errant, damaging thought can manifest and spread, creating an impenetrable emotional web of frustration, terror, and self-fulfilling prophecy. One insecurity can blossom into thousands, leaking into every thought, every step. I’m too fat, I’m too fat, I’m too fat, I’m so stupid, I’m so stupid, I’m so lazy, I’m so lazy. One, two, three, four. Like a heartbeat that cuts you in half with every thump. Eventually, it becomes so much a part of a person’s thought process that they can do nothing but believe in it. Like religion or values or tradition, we cling to it because we become engrossed in its validity. Our minds are stubborn– with constant repetition, a habit is born. And a habit of tearing ourselves to pieces over something that started out as nothing more than a notion is not quickly broken, if ever. It isn’t often that you see a devout religious person turned faithless by the presentation of some piece of scientific evidence; and, a person with some deep-rooted insecurity will not be convinced of its uselessness simply because someone tells them they should be.

I don’t have a solution and I’m not even sure where I could begin to look for one. If I had any idea, any clue, believe me– I’d be shouting it from the rooftops like it was the coming of the freakin’ rapture (buzz word!). Because I would give anything, I think, to be free of the chains that bind my thoughts. To be relieved of that cutting, rhythmic voice beating bullshit into my head. And that’s maybe the most effed up thing of all: often, insecure people are perfectly aware of how insane their humiliations are, just as a drug addict knows, somehow, that sticking needles full of poison into themselves is maybe not the best idea in the world. But logic faces an unfair fight against fear. I think it’s important that, while we might continue to reassure the girl questioning the beauty of her face or the man struggling to fill the role we’ve created for him, and feel exhausted by it, that we remember it isn’t something that person is choosing to feel. It might be the result of something terrible, like a nasty childhood, or something ironic, like narcissism. We don’t know ever, really, exactly how someone else feels and we can only imagine what we might do in their shoes. But it would still be us, poorly fitted inside of their circumstance. We will never be able to replicate their experience exactly, and because of that, shouldn’t give up on them because we can’t break them of something we’re only perceiving externally.

I’ll go forward trying to remember that. I’ll try to remember that I don’t know shit, I will never know anything as intimately as I know myself, and I can only do my best to accept people for their utter humanness.

Including me.
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