Becoming Grateful

Warning: The following post is written from the heart and reflects some truths that may be considered sad, dramatic, intimate, etc. Proceed with caution into my psyche.

Recently I have been getting in fights. Not physical brawls, but emotionally fueled altercations with people who love me. Why? Why am I fighting lately against that which I should be embracing? Why won't I allow myself to be open to advice...especially when I have gone out seeking it?

Tonight a friend of mine was standing across the street from Coyotes waiting for me to escape past the security guards, who were acting as a human wall between a man inside the club and a man outside the club trying to hit inside-the-club guy. While we were still within the barriers of the brawny security guards, my friend across the street overheard a girl say, "Look. It's red pants again." Tonight I was wearing my bright red pants. I love them. They are one of the most flattering pair of pants that I own, and I always feel top notch when I wear them out. Anyway, my friend heard the girls clearly taking about me, in the catty "oh, remember when we're talking shit about this girl earlier?" kind of way. I know the statement, I'm familiar with the intent.
Instead of just letting me live in ignorant bliss, my friend told me about it, so I did what any reasonable young woman dues, and I marched after the alleged offenders. (Sorry mom). Unfortunately, I was in heels, and couldn't catch up to them before they ducked into the Charcoal Grill. We did end up having a nice little chat with their friends outside, who supposedly were oblivious to the snarky girls, and calmed down.
When we got home, though, and were running through the events of the nights, I couldn't help but reflect on myself. Why had I allowed a comment, which I hadn't even heard, and which wasn't actually a direct attack on me, affect me so much?
The answer, I realized, is tied up in the fact that I still (after a years worth of therapy working on the issue) think first of the bad.
I have always struggled with being grateful. Not in the Veruca-Salt-more-more-more way. I wouldn't say that I'm particularly ungrateful for the physical things that I have. I'm more ungrateful for myself. When I think of myself, I don't think about the fact that, after years of dental work, I have a great smile. I don't think about the fact that if a friend were in need, I would drop everything to be a support to them. I don't think about the fact that I have been blessed with the ability to bullshit; that I have never really had to work hard to be successful at school. I don't think about the fact that I must be a pretty good human since I have managed to surround myself with an incredible group of friends.
Instead, I think about the fact that I am quick to tears, and quicker to anger. I think about the fact that I wish I had the calm demeanor of my father. I wish I lacked the ability to burn bridges like my mother. I wish I weighed less. I wish I felt better about myself. I wish I didn't turn red when I drink. I wish I didn't over think alcohol. I wish I didn't over think everything. I wish I wasn't as sensitive about criticism. Hell, I wish I wasn't as sensitive about advice. I wish, I wish, I wish. I could quite literally go on for pages about the things that I wish were different about myself. But most of all, I wish I could figure out how to take action. I wish I knew how to change the things I don't like about myself, instead of dwelling on them.
I mean, even the start of this idea was a criticism. I was criticizing the fact that I am not grateful for that which I have been blessed with.
I'm not trying to make excuses (which you know means I'm about to) but how am I supposed to start loving myself when for 19 years, I've told myself, "You're not good enough"?
It's like I have the devil and the angel on my shoulders. The devil always tells me how subpar I am. What a mess I am. What a disappointment I am.
For me, the devil is a voice in the back of my head. When I picture this voice, I picture it residing in the furthest depths of my skull, in a dark place. It whispers my greatest fears, and screams my smallest mistakes. It overpowers the other voice in my head. The one struggling to make it to the front. The one that says, "Everything is going to be ok. You are not irrational. You're allowed to feel the way you feel." This second voice is very buried. It is hidden behind the dark, looming cloud of failures, and I just don't know how to help it escape.
I want so badly to be the kind of person that others look to and think, "Wow. She is a great human." Mostly, though, I want to think that way. I want the voice that is now so hidden, so locked away, to be at the forefront. I want to feel good about myself. I want to truly love myself. I just really don't know how to make that happen.
For the next week, I am going to write down in my special pink journal - meant for only good things, fun things - one thing that I would like to improve about myself, one idea for how to improve it, and one thing that I love about myself everyday. Hopefully, I'll eventually see some of the things in the to-be-improved list move to the things-I-love list. Because at the end of the day, I do know that I'm worth loving. I know that I have good intentions, and I love with an open heart. I know that I am beautiful, and that my warmth lights my smile. I know that I am good human. I just can't let my brain get in the way of what my heart knows.