maybe he’ll come tomorrow

I am secretly convinced of my own brilliance. this is a recipe for endless disappointment, as nobody ever seems to really appreciate it. or they appreciate things about me that I’m not necessarily proud of. I think I’m hilarious and smart and knowledgeable and I try to be considerate (though occasionally parts of my brain move faster than others and I speak before I realise something). I think critically about everything, sometimes to my detriment, but it means that I examine everything closely. maybe too closely. it probably says something that I’m trying to enumerate what I like about myself but I keep making qualifications. 

my point was the disconnect between how I feel about myself and how I feel about how others perceive me. I get told I’m smart and beautiful and whatever and I don’t believe they mean it because conventionally I’m not any of those things. but I do believe I am those things. it’s just I don’t think anyone ever expresses it in a way I can process without thinking critically about it. it’s the curse of my brain, that I have to analyse everything. and of course I can never quite seem to make myself realise that my analysis is subjective. which is so obvious it’s painful, but it’s like because the thought didn’t originate somewhere else I can’t put it down to subjectivity. because I’m in my own head I can’t see how I’m influenced by external forces. which is stupid because of course I am and if I had any kind of objectivity about it it’d be the first thing I’d see. ironic. 

so instead I end up trapped on this merry go round, believing the bad press about myself that I’ve oh so critically evaluated, and ending up miserable. maybe one day I’ll be able to get off and see things from a distance. today is not that day.