Like clockwork, every new year I write some faux inspirational post about how I’m going to start doing better, to love myself more, to (insert whatever positive affirmations for oneself here). But this decade’s dance was just me dancing the foxtrot with failures and mistakes, finishing with a big smile with my life set aflame behind me.

I wish I followed what I preached. I do know better, and yet I choose to ignore the red flags. I now understand why I’m constantly exhausted: I’m not only physically fatigued from work, but I tire myself out by my mere existence.

So for this new year, I’m admitting to my faults, embracing it, and learning from them.

I don’t know my own value – I’m still figuring it out. It truly bums me out that I allow men make me second guess my self-worth. Who gave them that authority? I did.

I’m constantly being rejected by men. They don’t view me as “relationship worthy” or a girl “worth pursuing.”

Why?

I then spend countless hours questioning my intellect, my figure, my aesthetic, my personality, and it shows. It all boils down to me as the common denominator – I’m the problem. 

You’re right. How could anyone possibly love me when all I do is hate on myself. I don’t love myself, I don’t see the beauty in myself, I don’t believe in myself. Every big act I do, I somehow tarnish the event(s) with something from left field. I try to find something wrong in everything I do, and if nothing’s wrong, I’m going to try my best to create a situation.

Why can’t I have nice things? My subconscious won’t let me.

I now know that it’s attention I want. Good or bad, I want the publicity, which is probably why my name is spoken with an underlying whisper of contempt.

I’m a chaser. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline rush of the uncertainty of what’s waiting for me at the finish line; perhaps it’s the crave for the acceptance I never had. 

No – I’m not chasing men for love’s sake – I’m chasing for validation.

One day I’ll stop running; one day I’ll grow the f*ck up.

I envy the strong women who surround me. I envy that they grew up with strong women within their household, that they have strong women allies. How do I become a strong woman? Hopefully in 2020 I will be able to embrace that strength I’ve been yearning for.

All this self-doubt and pity is so deeply rooted, and with the winter season, it’s starting to flourish, all thanks to it’s fertilizer of a fresh accident that occurred a month ago.

A car hit me while I was on my bike around 2 AM and fled the scene. A park ranger found me laying in the middle of the street with my bike resting on top of me. I woke up in the ER and cried throughout my entire recovery. I’m fully healed now, but I often find my mind drifting away thinking, “what if…”

My surrounding friends expressed concern, helped me, cooked for me, and were emotionally there for me. My parents on the other hand were tacit. My mother honed in on my injuries and cried over how my face will always be scarred; my father just asked if I wore a helmet and that was that.

That driver left me to die; I wish I did.

Cheers to the new year. I’ll most likely remain as melancholy and depressing as ever, but I’ll be strong. So it’ll be living a life in bold print, but heavily italicized, because I’ll be dramatic, of course.