Ever since I was a little girl I remember wanting to be liked. Not just liked by a few people but by the masses. I dreamed of being the next Selena Gomez or Miley Cyrus. No, seriously, I dreamt about it, often. The next best thing was popular. I came to the conclusion that to survive and maybe even thrive was to be perceived as popular. Popular by definition is to simply be enjoyed and liked by a lot of people. And how does one be liked? A general rule of thumb is that people like themselves. They like people that talk like them, dress like them, like the same things as them and hate the same things as them. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy.
I mean everyone wants to be liked right? To some degree at least. Mine may have been more on the extreme side. A simple term for what I did is called mirroring. And I did it with everyone and everything. I got good at it too, pretending like everything you said was the most important thing. When I got to highschool, it only got worse. I joined this clique of girls who were the skinniest, prettiest and wealthiest girls in the class. They wore Lululemon leggings with Sacred Heart crew necks, tall UGG boots rolled over to expose the inside fluff and drank venti green tea lemonades, with no sweetener of course. These girls drank almost as much as their parents did. Making themselves throw up so they could drink more and look emaciated while doing so. So I put on the uniform and got a fake ID and was on my way.
I never felt as pretty or skinny or rich as them, but I could drink as much as them. When I found out that drugs and alcohol made you cool, it became my personality. And when I used, I was finally not perseverating and hyper analyzing on how much you liked me. Things quickly escalated. Getting kicked out of school, getting 51/50, found passed out with my face in a Chipotle bowl with a blue backpack full of drugs, covered in my own vomit. And it quickly went from cool to a liability. Bouncing from rehabs to different highschools, different jobs and college, I realized other people liked to drink and drug themselves into oblivion just as much as I did. I was liked again.
So cool until it wasn’t right? It’s hard to believe people like you when you don’t like you. And the more you hate yourself the more you feel as though you need others to love you. Begging someone to love you the way you want to be loved is the most painful, pathetic thing in the world. I’ve done it more than I’d like to admit.
Like me, like me, like me. One day I won’t care how much you like me. Because I’ll like me and that will simply be enough.