I'm a modern day mystic. A gypsy. I do palm readings and tarot cards and carry around a rose quartz stone in my purse to bring me luck in love and a calm disposition.I studied numerology and astrology and Buddhist mantras. I believe in souls and spirits and ghosts and aliens and that one day, when I die, all of my beliefs will have been true. I believe in everything.
The one thing I don't believe in though, which is a sad state of affairs if I've ever heard one, is myself. I don't believe that my opinion or personage matters. And how sad is that, for a person who still believes in true love, and magic and the sanctity of pinky promises to not believe in herself?
I don't know why I don't. I don't know when I went from this over-exuberant confident kid, to this sullen adult with nothing but fear and regret on either fork of her road staring her in the face. If poetic justice were true, I'd have blossomed into this beautiful, confident, self-reliant chick. Maybe it just takes longer than I anticipated.
I wish I did believe in myself. I wish I still held the belief that nobody would hurt me, and that wanting something and working towards it would mean that you get it, but I don't. Is that what growing up is, losing the magic and the security? Can I hold onto all these beautiful, tenuous things and still grow and become who I'm supposed to be?
Right, this about me, though. Me and my inability to see myself for all the flaws that I have. I want so many things, from the love of my life, from my family, from my job, that I'm too timid to ask for for fear of losing it all. But a friend once told me that a reward is nothing without a little risk, and that if I'm too afraid to jump, I would probably end up sitting on the side of the pool with the other kids too scared to fly or swim.
I hear that I'm wonderful. People say that I'm smart and beautiful, that I'm kind and something special. People tell me that all the time. Nobody has ever really proved it. I don't want to blame my lack of belief in myself on others, but you could see how that would confuse a girl: I'm every woman, but no woman at the same damn time. I should start proving to myself these things, but how do you define when "enough" is? When will I be smart enough, pretty enough, whole enough to please myself?
New year, new me, indeed. Nothing's changed. Still the same star crossed, lovelorn Virgo I've always been, and still, nobody seems to notice a thing. It's of my own making, this prison of doubt, and I've misplaced the keys, so what do I do now?
For now, I wait. I wait to either stop believing all together, or wait until my beliefs in myself are so full I can't deny them anymore. For now, I just wait.