A part of me is terrified because I love myself.
I love who I am, even if I am a misfit, and that scares me.
That scares me because of how averse the world is towards liking oneself. Everyone tells you, to love yourself, what they are actually asking is for you to love them- consider them as the source of your self-love.
Loving yourself irrespective of your shortcomings? That just means you’re a boastful prick.
There is a certain amount of similarity between masturbation and loving yourself. Yes, they are synonymous, and they are also looked down upon.
Think of it, you don’t say I jerked off into a sock like it’s an achievement. You never say ‘I love the fact that I am me, even if I am short, and that guy over there just rejected me.’
It’s not natural, it’s not right.
Yet, it is right. Or it should have been.
Technically, I can do whatever the fuck I want with my body, and the same goes for my soul. If my body likes being treated a certain way, it certainly shouldn’t be a matter of shame. I masturbate not because I am sad or lonely, but because I might like someone else’s hands on me, but I also like my own.
I can satisfy myself, and that thought- that notion of partial independence is scary.
If you think about it, same goes for loving yourself for who you are.
If you stop comparing your nose to that other girls, your nose won’t seem that bad. If you are happy, by being alone- not always, sometimes- if ‘me time’ isn’t just for miserable retrospection but for genuine happiness, then you’ll realise you don’t need the world as much as you think you do. Not as completely as you think you do.
Yes, you still need physical contact, a healthy mutual sex-life and good relationships, and genuine friendship.
What you don’t need is, constant approval, and a constant sense of shame and dissatisfaction, for not needing the world to telling you you’re happy, that you have a right to life, love and everything in it.