DH? No, TDO.
The Deluded One -- TDO -- is how I refer to the husband here. I'm not really a "darling husband" sort of person, and the actual nicknames I use are either too sticky for public consumption, too vile for public display, or too unique to stay private (assuming anyone ever reads this).
I picked "The Deluded One" because he insists on believing I'm cleverer than he is (demonstrably untrue), brilliant in debate (okay, maybe in occasional flashes), and awesomely talented (nope, not going there).
He thinks I'm cute (oh, no no not, not in any mainstream sense, certainly).
He thinks I have good taste (although that one actually reflects well on him, so....).
He thinks I'm funny. Well, okay, so do I. Let's hope we're both right about that one.
None of which means I am without flaw in his eyes. Ask him, and ye shall be told, occasionally at length, of my numerous and frustrating defects.
And why refer to him at all -- why drag the poor man into my feelings-dump of a project? Because one of the stupid, stupid, confusing, stupid things I do is (a) wish he thought me as perfect as humanly possible and yet (b) refuse to accept his judgement when he says I'm wonderful at something. His opinion isn't representative or somehow even real. He loves me: he's biased.
Of course, people's feelings and opinions about you are independent of your actual abilities, work, self. Not that they can't align -- some people have excellent judgement -- but they're not necessarily predictive or factual.
I know this logically, intellectually, but not -- not somatically, I can't feel it at all. I continue to believe on a visceral, practically pre-verbal level that if -- when -- people (whom TDO does not represent) think well of me, I will be worthwhile. Which people? The right people? All the people? I really don't know.
What I do know? Depression is depressing.
I picked "The Deluded One" because he insists on believing I'm cleverer than he is (demonstrably untrue), brilliant in debate (okay, maybe in occasional flashes), and awesomely talented (nope, not going there).
He thinks I'm cute (oh, no no not, not in any mainstream sense, certainly).
He thinks I have good taste (although that one actually reflects well on him, so....).
He thinks I'm funny. Well, okay, so do I. Let's hope we're both right about that one.
None of which means I am without flaw in his eyes. Ask him, and ye shall be told, occasionally at length, of my numerous and frustrating defects.
And why refer to him at all -- why drag the poor man into my feelings-dump of a project? Because one of the stupid, stupid, confusing, stupid things I do is (a) wish he thought me as perfect as humanly possible and yet (b) refuse to accept his judgement when he says I'm wonderful at something. His opinion isn't representative or somehow even real. He loves me: he's biased.
Of course, people's feelings and opinions about you are independent of your actual abilities, work, self. Not that they can't align -- some people have excellent judgement -- but they're not necessarily predictive or factual.
I know this logically, intellectually, but not -- not somatically, I can't feel it at all. I continue to believe on a visceral, practically pre-verbal level that if -- when -- people (whom TDO does not represent) think well of me, I will be worthwhile. Which people? The right people? All the people? I really don't know.
What I do know? Depression is depressing.
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