Instead of digging into the reasons for this state of affairs, instead treating it as your personal fucking responsibility to root out the problem and eradicate it, instead of redoubling your efforts to be more lovable and better, always approaching some infinite ideal of the whip-smart but easy-going professional with a body like a fuck doll, you need to take a good look at yourself and accept what you see. When it comes to love, at least, you must try to stop being or seeming “BETTER.” You need to accept exactly who you are and stop wishing it would change, that you’d be more palatable to the masses. “I am a reasonably good-looking woman with a tendency to cry at the drop of a hat.” “I am opinionated and impatient and I have a bad habit of fixating on stuff I don’t understand.” “I am bored by most people, and I wish I had the money and the space to own llamas.”
When I finally decided to stop seeming cooler and more easy-going than I actually was, when I finally stopped pretending that nothing bothered me, that I didn’t need to talk about heavy stuff or express my emotions, when I finally stopped seeing tears as a weakness (being utterly unable to cry is a pretty blatant weakness if you ask me), that’s when I realized that I was trying to truss up my weird in a shiny conventional package. Guys always thought I was a Lil’ Debbie Snack Cake, but then they’d open the package and find anchovies and feel disappointed. Instead of questioning why I was spending time with guys who only craved fluff and sugar, I grew ashamed of my oily, salty nature. I tried to act sweeter, snackier, Lil’-er.
Anchovies don’t have the easiest time imitating Ho-Hos. If you ever want to go insane, try behaving like something you’re not."