Compliments Confuse Me

I wonder if I’m alone in being confused by compliments. Every kind word feels like a backhanded serving of sarcasm, meaning the direct opposite of what’s actually being said. There are few people from whom compliments actually feel sincere, rather than patronizing, or satirical.

Was I raised with the idea that when someone says “Wow, your hair looks great today!” the implication is that it looks like crap every other day?

Maybe I was raised with the idea that I’m not worthy of compliments because everyone around me is better looking, thinner, and more worthy of praise?

Maybe I slipped down a rabbit hole of self-doubt, self-criticism, and self-destruction to the point that I have no idea what I look like?

Maybe I doubt intentions because too many people around me have shown their true colours through sarcasm, backhanded insults, and nit picking my many flaws?

Maybe people have been sincere in their compliments, but their intentions were harmful to my emotional state?

Maybe I’ve been judged, by myself, and others to the point where I feel unworthy?

A friend of mine recently said that they “refuse to attend my pity party for one.” I was told that I’m not allowed to describe myself if I’m going to express how unlikable, unloveable, and how unattractive I feel.

I guess I could focus on some of my good points. I don’t think I’m completely ugly, but I do feel that age is beginning to show itself in my reflection. I wish I’d taken better care of my skin. I wonder if daily moisturizing with shops worth of creams would have helped.

I don’t think my body is completely out of shape. I wish I’d worked harder and stuck with exercise regimes when I was younger.

Platinum has begun to comb itself through my original copper. What once fell like a thick curtain down my back now reacts like a permanent static shock.

Maybe I don’t have to see myself as beautiful to be seen as such in someone else’s eyes? I wish I knew how to trust words that are aimed at making me smile without tearing them apart in my brain. Why do I search for evil meaning in beauty that’s given to me?

The compliments I share are always sincere, and heartfelt. I’d be crushed if anyone ever doubted my honesty. How can I learn to trust others the way I hope they believe in me?

Photographs do not lie. In many I look amazing, yet the photos that are ingrained in my mind are the images that show my flaws. Those seem realer to me than any others. It’s almost as though I live my life through a sense of self-punishment.

I wish I knew how to love myself and see the real me beneath my frowns, and struggles.

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