My face in Journal

always seems to do it’s own thing.

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. I don’t know what the face is a window to. But for me at least, it seems to be a window to some inner world with which I have no direct contact.

I only see brief, distorted reflections of that world through the interactions with others, and on occasion, glimpses of my own visage that surprise me totally.

Today, a man - total stranger- lay his hand gently on the counter between us, and said in a soft voice “I hope the day gets better.” before leaving. I observed this with that familiar perplexing feeling that there was something obvious here that I’m totally missing.
On the way home, I caught a view of my own face in the mirror; and was struck by the sadness in it. It was like something that could jump out at you, grab you, begging to be recognized. Yet it came as surprise, as it always does.
Am I sad? I ask myself in curiosity.
And the answer did come- immediately and with tremendous emphasis; I am so incredibly sad.
Driving home, tears streaming down my face now, I ask Why am I so sad?
I am very lonely.
Why am I lonely?
Because I’m not liked. I’m unlikable.

And I know it’s true.

It’s true to me in a way that water is wet is true. In the same way that I know I am female and not male. It is a truth ingrained in my own belief system so deeply and without doubt that it’s impossible to question- and to question it, as I do now, is to question Mom.

Because Mom didn’t like me. She didn’t just show me this. She often told me. And I cannot question my Mom. She gave me everything. It’s not right to question her. She’s always right. If I question her, I am ungrateful. I am disrespectful. I am self pitying. I have no right. What right would I have to question, after having everything I could have ever desired?

There are too many encounters like the one above to count. Even when quite young, I would receive sympathetic quips from complete strangers. An old woman silently hugged me. Worried looks of concern followed by “are you okay?” Another old woman, strode up to me from across the way. “Jesus loves you, you know.” and returned to her shopping.
And I feel quite perplexed and guilty about these. I feel that I should not warrant concern. I should not evoke complete strangers to sympathy. I have everything I could want. I am ashamed that people feel they should try to show me their empathy.

I am ashamed still of the feeling of loneliness and sadness itself. If I am unlikable, how can I impose my presence on others? If I am unlikeable, I am nothing but a burden on their good will.

It is ironic that my face would torment me in this unconscious way. I can never show my emotion in front of anyone. I only cry alone. I can only be angry alone. I weep silently in my room with the door closed, so no one will hear. If there is no lock and I can’t stop the tears, I sit in front of door and brace my feet so no one can so much as crack the door.
I never understood why I did these things. But I realize now it’s because I was never allowed to express any thing at all. Not my opinions. Not my objections. Not even basic preferences, or emotions. To express anything other than happy compliance was to subtly question. A simple query into the world, which was not allowed.

“Without the bond, there’s no trust. Without trust, there’s no respect. With no respect, there’s no authority.
In other words, you did what you wanted, Mom, when I needed you. When you need me to do what you want, sorry. I’m going to do what I want.” -Stefan

Last updated October 20, 2019