Sunday Morning Hangovers

The worst part of a hung-over morning in New York is the curious inability to figure out where the boozy smells are coming from. Standing at the bus stop on my way to brunch, I kept self-consciously wondering if I was reeking of last night’s festivities or if the odor was creeping-up from the gutter in front of the bar behind me. Yes, nothing makes you feel more like a dysfunctional wino than your body’s unnaturally enhanced sense of smell the night after a bender, well that coupled with the special combination of aromas on a New York street corner. The wafting notes of cheep beer imply that New York herself had about as much fun as you did.

Being “On”

I am compiling a list of subjects to cover with my therapist next week. See, when I come-in and don’t have much to talk about or am in a particularly good mood, I feel like I must be disappointing her. I worry that I make her feel like I am wasting her time. Yes, you guessed it; that is absolutely something I need to talk to her about. It is a special brand of dysfunction when you worry so much about making sure other people are satisfied with you that you even extend this courtesy to your shrink!
This morning at brunch I was off. I tried to be on for Kyung, but I was tired and hung-over. I left very worried that I had not shown her a good time. Why do I feel like I need to show everyone a good time? Why do I need approval on some level from everyone around me? I also think that if I can people to give me a second chance I will wow them. I am compelled to prove myself and make-up for imaginary failures.

I suppose insecurities run deep and my phobic fear of disappointing people, of being rejected, of trying to prove myself, it runs deep and strong in me. That is what I miss about last summer; the beautiful feeling of being enough. I did not have to try to please people. I did not have to desperately seek approval. I was me, I was loved, I was confident in the fact that I was enough.
So much in my life points to this fact now. Not all 40 members of my group are active, but many are. When I invite girlfriends from the group out, they always say yes (Kaitlin being the striking exception, yet I still run to her, hmm.) Men of all ages and status are interested in me. I am me and no one thinks there is anything wrong with me, no one judges me except me. Why do I refuse to accept the idea that I am ok? Why do I focus on the slight ways in which I could possibly interpret rejection? Why do I constantly blame myself for imagined mutinies? Where did that beautiful sense of self-satisfaction and confidence go? Somehow I find a way to blame myself for everything.

Unlike the booze-soaked scent dilemma, when it comes to my invisible panel of judges, it definitely is me. So I suppose the question is, how does one go about quieting the critic within? Taking a lesson from my own personal history, the only logical answer seems to be brave, vulnerable, leaps of faith. I need to trust myself enough to believe the smiles, to accept the compliments without looking for the underlying sarcasm. I have to love myself enough to accept love without hanging my entire self-worth on it. I need to love myself enough that everyone else’s affection is simply a pleasant addition to the well of affection and worth I already confidently hold.

The truth is, I am a bit of a coward. I have lost a bit of faith in myself, believing once again that given enough time everyone will leave me. I will disappoint them and then they will turn their backs on me. I suppose the stench I thought I had washed away, the wafting aroma is my oldest fear: being alone because I am not good enough. After the phenomenal year I had, perhaps this is just an emotional hang-over.

I can’t clean-up the entire city, but I can take a good hot shower. I am enough. I am enough. I am more than enough. I will let this sentiment wash over me until the stench of insecurity disappears. I will go forth confidently, knowing with conviction that it's not me.