This entry has nothing to do with today. Rather it involves how I felt 2 nights ago. I was dicking around on Instagram before bed and came across this model—a solid ten in my book. I mean she wasn't the skinny runway type, she had all the right curves. Kind of woman who would be in the ring in between rounds at a UFC fight. As I scrolled through her pictures, many of which were provocative, I began to feel an overwhelming sense of inadequacy.
Not a new feeling. I wrote about this as recently as my last post. One thing to point out is the intensity of bad that I feel is proportion to how attractive I find the woman—and I was feeling utterly worthless. I noticed my thoughts spiralling out of control and got anxious. I HATE that I do this to myself. That's how strong my programming is. Years of emotional baggage from being fat, along with dysfunctional social conditioning.
I think the real conflict results from the shackles I've imposed upon my burning biological desire and the conscious one to:
Feel attractive, confident, and WORTHY of ANY woman. To be unapologetically male.
Writing is therapeutic.
Not a new feeling. I wrote about this as recently as my last post. One thing to point out is the intensity of bad that I feel is proportion to how attractive I find the woman—and I was feeling utterly worthless. I noticed my thoughts spiralling out of control and got anxious. I HATE that I do this to myself. That's how strong my programming is. Years of emotional baggage from being fat, along with dysfunctional social conditioning.
I think the real conflict results from the shackles I've imposed upon my burning biological desire and the conscious one to:
Feel attractive, confident, and WORTHY of ANY woman. To be unapologetically male.
Writing is therapeutic.
