Now, you’re all probably wondering, “Who’s the boy? When did this happen? What does he look like? Was he a good kisser? Did you guys ever do it? Who broke up with whom and why? Do you talk to him at all, now? Do you still love him? Spill the deets, Zoe!” Alright then, here are the ‘deets’: hell no to all of the above. “Oh, but then who exactly was your first love?” Well, my first love was and always will be me. That’s right, I said it, and can I get a hell to the YEAH?!
|Image found here|
At the tender and prime age of 15, I’ve come to realize that above all, including relationships and lovers, and even sometimes friendships, I come first. Now, this is where a normal bloggeuse would insert a Hello Giggles formatted list of reasons why you should love yourself packed with cute GIFs, but alas, I’m just not that normal (and I love that about me)! Besides, no one man or woman is truly the same as another; therefore, we’ll all learn to love ourselves in our own ways (eventually). Now, some of you smart cookies (but not really) might deem me to be cocky, narcissistic, pompous, self-absorbed, and very sanctimonious for proclaiming my self-love to the internet universe, but couldn’t someone who shares the same views as I do feel obliged to state the fact that thousands of girls (and boys) proclaim their self-hate and self-pity all over social media every single day?
It’s understandable to feel sad once in a while, or even just from thinking of someone or listening to a song, but to claim that you’re “in love with your sadness” and that “only he/she can take away this pain, your depression” is not only just supercalifragilisticexpialidociously annoying, but those ‘statuses’ are so transparent and quite insulting to those who actually suffer from depression and such. Like, puh-lease, if you’re a girl from my school who gets over 100 likes on her Facebook profile pictures and you’re reading this now, and thinking that you truly are terminally ill with Lana-Del-Rey-sadness because you don’t look like a Victoria’s Secret model and/or don’t have a boyfriend, I highly doubt that you and 3/4 of the other girls I’m Facebook friends with actually need the medical attention depressed people are required to have (does any sophomore at my school even know what Prozac is?), which just goes to prove that you’re only seeking assurance and confirmation from others that you really are beautiful, and so on, so forth. (Does no one feel any embarrassment to pointing out their non-existent flaws out on the internet for everyone to see? [I’m not saying they don’t have flaws, I’m just saying that they’re really just pointing out their best features for people to rave over and such.]) I mean, how do you know if so-and-so really does like your eye color when you just blatantly captioned a picture of your eyes: “omg ugh i like h8 my eye color SOOO much FML why are they so ugly like the rest of my face *insert crying face emoji here*”? It’s just a normal human reaction to try to comfort one who’s wallowing in self-pity and whose self-loathe game is strong, so obviously everyone is going to comment things like, “ohmygosh NO ur eyes r sooo beautiful OMG im so so sooo jelly like i want them share pls u tumblr girl!!!!!” to try and make you feel better about yourself, no matter what they actually think about your blasted eye color.
You know what gals, let’s face it: none of us will ever (naturally) look like Kate Upton, so why bother crying over spilled milk? I mean, it’s not like anyone looked like Kate Upton before Kate Upton existed anyways. She’s a one of a kind, as we all are! Some people may think that she’s been blessed by God himself with her looks, and others think she’s just a very tall plain-Jane who happens to be naturally slim with big boobs. Opinions differ and they will vary from person to person, but you can’t spend your whole life seeking the admiration of every single wretched person you know.
This is when you just have to stop caring what other people think and start doing what makes you happy. (Noted: listening to less Daughter and Lana Del Rey, and unfollowing triggering Tumblr blogs will help improve droopy eyelids and heavy, achy-brakey-hearts.) I mean, when you’re about to go to sleep, whose thoughts are in your head? No one’s but yours, so no one else’s approval really matters except for your own (DON’T TELL YOUR TEACHERS OR PARENTS I SAID THAT, THOUGH). As long as you’re content with yourself, don’t let some kid who sits next to you in biology ruin it. Not quite sure what males do, but girls, no matter what you and/or what your body looks like, you just have to throw your shoulders back, put your chin up, stick your boobs out, strut like you’re a scorcher Karl Lagerfeld hand-picked himself to walk down the runway in Chanel SS15, and blind them with your pearly white smile (reminder: ALWAYS BRUSH YOUR TEETH!), because damn straight you’re beautiful and confident in who you are, and hell yes you love yourself! Once you stop caring and start nurturing strong self-love and self-confidence/esteem, the rest of the cookie will crumble, dear reader.
I can personally say that with my love story, it was something the size of War and Peace. I was once a weak-willed weeping willow who always sought out the admiration of others, but hey! I’ve come a long way (as in circa Lana Del Rey in flower crowns during the Video Games era), and that’s something to commend. My self-love started to grow slowly, and I think it all started after realizing that even I was getting annoyed with everyone claiming that “the world would be better without them” and yada yada yada. I myself have gotten my fair share of hate mail, and while I could always use that and other experiences to forever damn myself to be diagnosed with depression, I’d just rather not. It all starts with commending yourself for achieving what seems like littles things, but are actually milestones, such as something like finally cutting your hair short because all of the other girls who are pretty enough to our social standards all have long hair, so you had it too―even though you secretly always wanted short hair.
My last point that I cannot stress enough is that no one else is going to satisfy this supposed sadness you have except for you. Only you can “cure” it. If a guy or a girl comes along, and they “fix” you, there was nothing really to fix in the first place then, was there? It was just the right-looking person who told you everything you wanted to hear. This is real life―this isn’t some movie or YA novel where a Gus Waters wannabe will sweep you off of your feet and kiss your scars, or any rubbish like that. Stop romanticizing self-harm/self-loathing. There is nothing romantic about hating yourself so much that you can’t even stop to love back wonderful people who love you but you are pushing away (whether it be a parent/guardian/relative, friend, or lover). Once you love yourself, you’ll find it much easier to love another because you won’t always be doubting/questioning/second-guessing yourself, or feeling totally uncomfortable because your stretch marks are really visible on your legs or because your ribs stick out through your tank top. You’ll be able to appreciate everyone and everything around you.
On another personal note, I’ve also come to enjoy my dry sense of humor and personality. In fact, I’m really starting to love my overactive imagination, being the (day) dreamer I am, and the way I see the world. I realized that maybe, just maybe, not everyone sucks, and neither does the world. Maybe it was always me, all along… and that’s how my first love went a little like.
Until next time,