Me, Myself and I

A leisurely scroll through social media whilst in bed, and surprise surprise, I instantly feel my life lacking everything everyone in the images are doing. Today is different though. Outside is grey, cold and windy for September. I feel comfortably cocooned in my bed, under the duvet hearing the rushing wind whistle through my slightly ajar window. I feel ok. Genuinely, the last few days have been great. I spent most of my weekend acting like a teenage boy playing video games for hours. I haven't seen Zeus in almost 9 months and spent most of the day with him in Enfield. Met Dani for lunch and had a great catch up. I feel good. There is something I haven't quite interacted with yet though. Something I haven't quite dealt with head on. Whilst I feel good, I don't 'feel' good.

Jeremiah messaged me with a simple, "hello". Most of our conversations start this way. I explained I regressed to being 15-years-old, stuck in a room with a projector playing video games. Jeremiah just had a newborn son, and asked once he's old enough, my services may need to be enlisted in the video game geek department. We start discussing video game's cool factor and the social pressures people go through at times to stay relevant. Jeremiah considered his desired activities not very cool. One of his talents is singing and he's brilliant at it along with his humour. I failed to see how he couldn't be cool in school as I admired these things about him. I, for some reason, with braces, bad acne and a huge arse Black Panther afro, was very popular in school, which he wasn't surprised at. At. All. I mentioned, a 30-year-old man playing video games in his boxers, Doritos Chilli Heatwave share bag propped up on against a naked torso, doesn't scream popular man. Swanky roof top bar, socialising with the city's eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, sipping overpriced rose, talking inflation, diary booked up until mid November, is the definition of popular. And in true Jeremiah fashion he asks: "Do you want to be out in a swanky roof top bar?". Yes, I do. But my income doesn't support that lifestyle. There was a pause in iMessage for a while as the animated typing icon appeared and then decided it got bored of waiting for the reply and moved to a faster paced conversation. He then said: " I feel sometimes you're very attached to the status of money. It’s like you can’t see what you have and you feel that buying more expensive things will change the way you feel about yourself". I replied with: "I’d agree with you and say to an extent that’s true. I don’t feel having hella expensive shit is going to change how I feel about myself. I already dress fly and I don’t need Hermes or Louis in my life".

I started to think about this over the next twenty-four hours.

Love is important to understand, it's important that we feel it, we need it to live full, happy lives. We all regard ourselves experts in what we need and how we should be loved. Relying on our instincts to give chocolates and flowers on valentines day, sending a text to let someone know you are thinking of them, or a fancy meal on your anniversary. These are cliche examples, forgive me. The gesture of gift giving seems to solidify for most of us, or at least we are taught, that if we give a gift it means you love someone. Ultimately we want to create a feeling, an emotion, an incredible, unforgettable experience. You want that person to be happy. Mostly, for people who you love, you will do whatever you can to make that person happy. Jeremiah made it plain that my status and money attachment issues maybe at the root of my self love problem. Let's talk about you then. Do you love you? Before you mentally reply, I don't mean narcissistically in love with yourself where it's actually toxic. What are three things you love about being you? Equally, what are three things you would change? Will you do whatever it takes to make you happy? I know I don't. In fact, I do everything I can to deny my own happiness, sometimes sacrificing it to make other's happy. I place expectations on material objects in the hopes once I have them, I will be happy. I am not in control of other's happiness. I am in control of mine. You are in control of yours. This isn't new information; why do we self loathe then?

Hermes said something to me a few weeks back now that I still cannot get my head around. He told me I chose to be Aaron. Not the person I have developed whilst being here on Earth, rather, I chose this body, time and space to be born in. I chose to be born to my parents, six foot two inches tall, size twelve feet, forty-four inch chest and black. I have always been taller than most, started puberty before most and had things people admired. Take my hair for example, I had a lot of thick, long curly hair. Girls were envious as well as the guys. I loved being tall. At that time in school it was rare to find many people taller than me. I knew they existed, my family members were part for the six-foot-four-inch club. My brother and dad are built like brick houses. I didn't care I was skinny. I loved it because I could eat whatever I wanted and not put on a pound. Yes, there were things I hated about my body, but I accepted them. Why? Because when other people saw them, their reactions were never as bad as my internalisations. More importantly, I was healthy and living life. If someone didn't like something about me, it was their problem, not mine. I didn't care that people thought I spent a lot money on clothes; the reality was and is, that I didn't and I don't. I dress to feel comfortable. I wear my confidence through my clothes. I express my personality and flamboyance through fashion. Where it started to break down, I started to listening to other people about what jewellery I should wear, how I should wear my clothes and ultimately made some friends that made my ethnicity stand out more than it should. I was asked once during a training session of a new technician "if I wear a lot of jewellery to make up for lack personality". That one struck a serious chord. In fact, that was probably one of the most singly damaging comments to my self-esteem I have heard. A comment that still haunts me.

No more, this has to stop. Feeling inadequate is destructive and it's blocking me from getting into a relationship and really building with someone. I think about all the things I want to be aesthetically, knowing things like genetics may not permit me to have a stocky rugby build, for example. If I'm honest with myself, if I achieve that stocky build, who am I doing it for? To satisfy and confirm a stereotype? Which means it's for everyone else. How do I change this negative self image? I had more questions like: what really is handsome? How is it defined? Am I handsome? Can I be handsome if I gained muscle? Desired if looked like a weight lifting god? Am I linking big builds to masculinity and masculinity to desirability? Essentially confirming gender constructs created by society? Ultimately I wanted to know whether people found me attractive? But these are all the wrong questions aimed at the wrong people. My issues are from within; I need to fix my broken internal mirror. I struggled to find a way to reflect my internal mirror outwardly. Jeremiah is my life consultant; he gets to know first hand every thought that goes through my head. But I needed something that was going to force me to look at myself. I have a double height wardrobe in my bedroom with full height mirrors on the doors. I stood naked in front of the mirror. I scanned every inch of my skin. I fixated on the one thing I hate about my body the most: my feet. I had to challenge myself to change the perception I had about them. I had to look at my feet and somehow, objectively tell myself what was wrong with them. I started with: why don't they look like... and I had to stop myself. A comparison of sets of feet was not a part of the plan. It was really difficult not to be self-deprecating. It had become a habit so bad it ran on auto pilot. After looking for a solid ten minuets, asking myself repeatedly, "what's wrong with your feet?" I couldn't find anything wrong. I have no callouses, no corns or bunions. All nails are flat, no clubbing with healthy nails beds. Soles of my feet are soft, no blisters or any abnormalities. They are feet. Flexing my toes on the carpet of my floor, I had to make another challenge. This was just the start and I didn't want to turn back. When you're at home, walk around bare foot. This might sound strange; even when I'm at home alone, something is always covering my feet. Even in the summer. It's been a month and I don't hate the sight of my feet as much as mirror-gate. And by no means is this over. I still have to be ok with my feet. I'm building a relationship with my body, piece by piece.

I have set myself another challenge. But the next one is a longer journey and will take whole lot more than walking around with no socks on.