I killed the urge to blast my sad mood today on Facebook. It was going to be a cry for help wrapped in a joke (just like most of my cries for help/jokes) — "Is there, like, a self-esteem store?," I was going to ask my Internet friends. And they would ask me what's wrong or tell me I'm great, and I would feel a little bit better about myself for being loved.
But that's stupid.
I'm not going to do that.
The truth is, I feel like a piece of garbage today. I feel so utterly garbage-y that I even checked the Period Plus app on my phone just to be sexist to myself and see if I could blame the bad feelings on my unwieldy lady hormones.
Nope. Not quite.
It's that pesky question mark in my soul. The one that keeps me from know that I, Gretta, am OK; I'm worth the time and space I occupy in the universe.
This is a hard thing to know.
Do you know it? Do you know that you are worth more than the things you accomplish? Do you know that I love you despite, and perhaps because of, what you deem to be your failures?
Well, I do.
(Because if you're reading this, you're probably related to me.)
If there were a self-esteem store, I hope they would be smart enough to sell it in bulk, like toilet paper. Because sometimes you need a lot self-esteem to wipe the mess off of a crappy day.