Sense of Self

I had something of an epiphany today: I seem to have very little sense of self, or at least of self-worth. I tend to see myself mostly through other people's eyes, which gives people the power to raise me to dizzying heights, and to tear me down to excruciating lows. All it takes is a few words to have these intense effects on me. Tell me something nice about me, and I feel good about myself. Tell me something not so great about me, and I feel like shit.

It's not hard to figure out where this comes from, but I don't want to get into that. The point is that I've never been able to move beyond that lack of sense of self, no matter how much therapy, writing, and living I've done. If I had to describe myself, I'm not even sure what I'd say, but I suspect that a lot of what I might say would be views I've gained of myself through other people's lenses.

My ex-husband made up this nickname for me: Rambi. It was a combination of Rambo and Bambi, because, he said, that's what I was - hard and tough on the outside, and soft and fragile on the inside. For all the things he said and did to damage me, this is something I think he was right on target about. However bitchy, strong, tough I may come across, inside I am still that scared, insecure little girl who feels unworthy of love and kindness.

Where is this all coming from right now? I'm just having a really tough time right now. Michael's recovery is slow. I feel alone. I feel overwhelmed and incapable, a lot of the time, of dealing with everything that's been necessarily piled on my shoulders, with nobody really to lean on. And I'm not just talking about the practical and logistical aspects of all of this, so I hope this doesn't result in a barrage of offers of help. It's more emotional than that. I just feel alone, and this is me venting.