I am okay just the way that I am even when I don't make other people comfortable

I tried speaking to my mother about how I am upset with the unfairness of the way that people sometimes treat me.
 Paraphrasing, here is a recap:
The conversation started with us wishing each other Happy Valentine's day. I asked how she was doing and how her cold is going. She asked me how I was doing: "Horrid." Bad idea, Katherine. Don't be honest.

She asked why. "Mat came over and I got really upset and he treated me like I was trying to be manipulating and-- I'm just not sure why."

A few minutes later of talking and it popped into my head "You know what bothered me so much? He just wanted me to stop being upset! I am so fucking sick of people not giving me the same kind of acceptance that I give them. If HE was crying I would be okay with it. But if I cry all he does is tell me to stop. I'm fucking sick of it! People punish me for expressing my negative and human emotions."

"I think punish is too strong.."

"Mom. Social punishment is certainly punishment and something that effects me very strongly! I tell someone that their behavior is hurting me and suddenly  I am not treated so kindly by them. Sticking-up for myself? I MUST have a cold, or I'm leaving my 'kind nature' behind, or I've 'changed-- SOMETHING is wrong with me for telling people that their actions or lack there of bother me in some fashion. I can understand and understand and understand and it STILL doesn't fucking make it okay. If I don't like what another person is saying or doing then suddenly I am 'ungrateful'."

Then, I'm guessing realizing that she is under this umbrella of people whom I know that do exactly this, my mother started to DEFEND the people I was talking about: "they don't mean it", "it's understandable", "you could end up hurting their feelings if you told them."

She has tended to be one of the most "nice"-peddlers I have ever known, my mom has. And, no, I don't mean  "doing things for others", I mean the most commonly used definition of nice-- a definition that is used to COMPLIMENT people-- "someone who does things for others at the expense of themself". That isn't something to be praised-- that ought to be pointed out as an unhelpful habit. This definition of "nice" isn't "doing something for others" as much as it is being really mean to oneself. Putting yourself on the back burner isn't kind it's cruel. I hate when people tell me how "nice" I am. I am not this definition of "nice" and I don't enjoy being told that I am just because someone can see that I am okay with things that are normally an inconvenience for other people.

"I know your nature is forgiving," says she, "If you just understand that those people are doing it with love..." She started to tell me how she "just called to tell me happy valentine's day and now I was yelling at her and" i was "so angry."
1. Mom, you just did EXACTLY what I am furious about: Telling me (by using shunning tactics like "your innate nature is better than how you are acting") that I should not be angry; that it is not okay to be angry.
2. YOU ASKED ME HOW I WAS AND I RESPONDED HONESTLY.
3. You have no faith in how much I love people. I love people NO MATTER if I am upset with them or not. I don't have to be happy in order to know that I love people.
4. How dare you tell me that I should be more sensitive to the feelings of other people! If they end up getting hurt then they aren't hearing me correctly and that's THEIR problem. Does this sound a little too close to home, Mom?


FUCK!

My Valentine to You

I want to hear about everything that ever was within you and what you anticipate that which will be. I want to learn what is making you who you are so I can appreciate all that is your existence. Speak. Don't speak. Let me give you what it is that will allow you to be as you wish when you wish to be as you wish.

I would like to clarify the direction of this. This is how I feel about you (whoever you are who is reading this). There aren't exceptions. I love you. I love you when you are destroying and when you are not. I love you when you act with kindness and when you do not. I love the way that you are reading this and I love when you ignore this or don't notice it. I don't care if this makes me bizarre because I love you. I don't care that I cannot tell all of the many "you"s there are because the lack of communication does not dissipate my love's depth and persistence. I love you.

#:00 in the morning; # O'clock in the Ante Meridium

It's funny how anxiety is at it's best around this time.

I feel so alone. Because everyone is asleep. Because I cannot feel the opposite of lonely. Because I cannot yet feel "together". A roiling boiling sort of pain-- not uncomfortable because it hurts so badly, but, rather, because of it's persistence. A soft and mistakingly sweet fear that is knocking about, having a laugh, seeing the neighbors, writing some letters, and having a lovely time as it is punching my walls, kicking over my castles, eating all the last pudding cups there ever was. Destroyed by a pudding eater. That must be what this dry and seeping hatred is coming from.

Mishika is squeaking and destroying because I'm awake so late. She scares me legitimately sometimes. I think she reminds me of the destructive sensations that I feel often within myself. Something like an overenergized kitten. It's scratching at your furniture, clawing up your legs. It's demanding immediacy of nothing clear. You tell it to stop, but it can't hear you-- it's a kitten. It either doesn't care or it truly cannot understand you. But you'll never know which one it is. And it doesn't matter anyway because now you have to find out how to MAKE it stop. Or accept it.

I want to accept it. The idea of running away from anxiety has been my goal for my last 14 days, 2 months, and 20 years.

Here's a good thing to know, though: pain is not something to run from. It's not something of horrid-nature but it is something of natural events. I haven't cried yet today. I've done laughing and smiling even though I was bigger than I have been in two years. This is the first time, maybe, that I haven't felt uncomfortable about my body image like it dictated my worth. I bought lingerie. I bought health supplements. I began another blog to talk about the different ways in which I am working to be the most content I can (which is many). I wore heels, and walked as tall as I could. I think the thing that scared me most was the eating.

Eating outside of meals is terrifying. "Oh gods," I think "I might not stop. I might just keep going. I might not stop. What would they say, all of them, if they knew? What would they do if they, all of those many 'them's, saw me? Would they label me a fat person? And if they did, those 'them's, would it make it true? If they knew how much their words can mold my thoughts, actions, and body, and then they called me fat I would be trapped. Forever the fat person. Forever someone who cannot wear what is comfortable. They would condemn me to life as the fat person and it would be all over."

I'm hungry legitimately but I've been craving a binge too. I'm not going to eat. Because I'm afraid. Because I can decide not to eat whenever I want. Because, because, because. Because right now, and most times like this moment, I don't want food or anything other object. Because I am craving the ability to scream and cry in front of someone I love and for them to be okay like I would be okay with them if they needed to scream and cry. A parent to rescue me from my crib when I don't know what will become of me; they'll coddle me and coo me and tell me things are okay and they will continue to be okay and all I have to do is cry. It's okay. They'll still hold me if I cry. They won't leave the room and lock the door if I throw a fit. Where are these people? Why is it that the person whom I know would do this for anyone won't do it for herself?

Well, I guess I am learning how to coddle and coo. Maybe I ought to ask: "What is it, Kat? What is it, my Love? What is bubbling inside you? What do you need from me? Can I give you a hug? I want to hear about everything that ever was within you and what you anticipate that which will be. I want to learn what is making you who you are so I can appreciate all that is your existence. Speak. Don't speak. Let me give you what it is that will allow you to be as you wish when you wish to be as you wish."

What a wonderful love letter I just wrote.