Les Autres

There is a disruption in the way I live every time I am reminded of *others*. I'll be shopping for groceries and see something I like, reach for it, and then...

What will my flatmate think?

It's not what she'll say, because most of the time she doesn't say anything, except of course when she does. It's been rare, but the odd comment or two has me on edge. Technically she has no power over me–we're both adults, we make our own decisions. But I gave her power anyway, by caring about her perception of me. How much room for improvement do I have, to her?

It's been another late night, couldn't get any sleep before two o'clock. When I wake up, bleary-eyed and a little bit lost, I decide to let the tide whisk me away again. It doesn't quite manage, so I stay here on the bank, mattress warm in places, deliciously fresh in others. My phone is within reach, soft-spoken stories the only thing that can put me to sleep these days. It's barely nine in the morning. I have time, I tell myself. I'm not working right now anyway. Not much to do so I simply exist, and scroll, and exist, and scroll, telling myself all the while that I'll get out of bed at 9:30. When I check, it's 9:52, and dread sinks down my throat all the way to the pit of my stomach.

What would my mother think?

She'd be sad, wouldn't she? That I'm wasting away like this. "You have a lot of potential", I can hear her say, while all the things I keep saying I'll do flash before my eyes. Yet I'm still in bed, unable to move, and now guilt is making me yell at myself twice as loud. I should be, I should be, I should be.

What would my sister say?

These past few years he'd accomplished so much that even when things don't go according to her plan, she's still miles ahead of me. The solid foundation under her feet is something I don't feel I ever had, and I feel its lack underneath my bare soles. It's just my blanket and a pillow I kicked all the way down the bed during the night. No low-rate-of-success national competitive exam win, no 2k-per-month job, no screenshots of my latest run that I ran with my good body that I feed good things only.

But my sister wouldn't say anything to me. She wants me to be happy where I'm at, nothing more. She told me so herself on a car ride.

My mother wouldn't think anything other than well-wishes, because she knows my struggles, and mostly she, too, only wants me to be happy.

My flatmate is just a person, same as I am. I have opinions on her too and they're not worth anything. They're certainly not reflective of her worth, because my opinions are just that. If she expressed any worry about those I'd ask her who cares, because I certainly don't. She doesn't owe me anything.

And yet there is a disruption in the way I live every time I'm reminded that my confidence isn't enough for me to feel good about myself. So I have to make it everyone else's job to love me instead. I never say it out loud, I don't need to, we all do the same thing. Responsible for everyone except ourselves, it's like living with cameras on us all the time, never relaxed, always searching for the approval of people who have already given it. But what about the renewal? What if?

It's not even them I want to ingratiate myself to. It's the meaner, less flattering versions of them that I have locked up in my mind to serve as little punishers whenever I step a toe out of a line that I'm not really sure where that line even comes from. Is it my own? Has it been fed to me, ad after ad, tweet after buzzfeed thinkpiece, law of the land and popular opinions?

I don't know who I'm trying to please. All I can say for sure is that those distorted things I'm trying to feed with my best behaviour will always be hungry, because some masochistic part of me needs them that way.

And it's kind of hell, if you ask me.