Whenever I describe myself, one of the first words I use is "nice." I think I'm pretty nice, and it's one of my qualities that I'm happy with. If someone told me I was mean, it would cut deep.
Maybe I'm in denial.
It's hard for me to admit, but I don't like some people. Admitting that I don't like certain others is like giving people license to not like me, which I can't deal with. I don't like one of my coworkers. I don't particularly enjoy my boss.
People I don't like usually haven't done anything mean to me. I either witness them doing or saying something mean about others, or I just don't like their personalities.
One girl I never even interacted with I didn't like just because she was always involved with drama between my friends. I found out she might have depression and I felt bad.
I even dislike my ex-roommate, and I was the one who stole things from her!
I gossip, of course. I can dish on people who don't deserve it.
I think some people are ugly. I even think some people are uglier than me (how is that possible?). It doesn't mean I dislike them or that I think it's bad that they're ugly. On the contrary, I'm glad there are ugly people out there who can love their lives, because it means I don't have to wallow in self-pity and unhappiness.
(Interestingly, no one I've met with an ED or in the ED community has seemed less than exquisitely beautiful. It's intimidating and puzzling)
I think some people are fat. Sometimes I look at my sister and think she's fat. And then I worry about thinking that, as if the thought will cause her self-esteem to plummet and send her headfirst into an eating disorder.
I worry that my niceness is just an act I put on to hide my true mean-spirited feelings. I know everyone judges to some extent, but I don't know to what extent. The girls I've met in group therapy seem nicer than me, so I wonder if I'm actually mean.
I don't want to be mean. I want to be nice.
Maybe it's just who I am.