YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

If I may bare my soul.

My parents go the same bank branch as I do.

A few weeks ago, the tellers told me that my parents were just there, and told them that I was a very good son.

I still can't process that: the only way I can handle it is by (crazy as it sounds) imagining a little cartoon me. He is curled up in a ball, on the ground, shaking.

It is as if a sword was stuck into my stomach, and then pulled out.

That is: my parents can praise me to the bank tellers, but not to me. It is too much to handle. I can't handle that.

This month I've been:

* That friendly, forgettable guy who was the presiding judge/pollworker at the election
* That friendly, forgettable guy who took a woman out to dinner a couple times

In both cases I felt vaguely appreciated, but was never explicitly thanked.

No one forced me to do either of those things. I took a chance, trying to make situations smoother and more meaningful. I thought I was needed, that I could help create something fun and interesting.

Alot of times, when I do what is asked of me, I am ignored.

(Excepting, strangely, at work: I have frequently been affirmed there!)

The only time I hear from people is when I don't meet their needs, in which case they hit me with the Shame Stick, before they go back to ignoring me.

Also, for years I have tried to improve my grooming, hygiene, and clothing. Male beauty, if such a thing exists.

I understand many people lament men's choices in shoes, clothes. But when I try, no one notices.

That's not totally true: two women have complimented me in the last ten years: in 2005 a woman in Cleveland said I had a beautiful smile, and in 2008 a woman in Boston said I was good looking.

That is 8 years and 5 years, a long time to go on two compliments.

"Male beauty" may exist, and I may exhibit some form of male beauty. But I don't know, can't know, if "male beauty" is a thing that exists because I am not told.

What further breaks my heart is that everything I've written is preventable, and wouldn't cost a cent. Dale Carnegie admonished readers that people who wouldn't think of depriving their children of meat and potatoes for a week will go years without praising them.

This breaks my heart.

The other image I have is like Humpty Dumpty: I have pieces of myself around, but I can't fit them together. I am missing pieces. The pieces don't fit. I can't make them fit.

Sometimes, when I am falling asleep, I comfort myself by imagining what specific people would say if they praised me, if they said what I most wanted to hear.

I feel similar sometimes when I try to make certain efforts that go unnoticed. And I also seem to get the majority of my praise at work. My parents are more forthcoming, but I still don't get regular praise from them either.

It's important to note (in my opinion) that the most important assessment is what we know about ourselves. Don't be too hard on yourself of course, but also recognize what is good and true about you. It's a great feeling when people praise and affirm you the way you want it, but ultimately I think it's better not to count self-worth in what other people think (unless you're violent or something like that, ).