I don't know, guys. I typed this up because I'm feeling horrible, and I had to get it out somewhere.
~~~
I’ve spent the last three or four years of my life constantly thinking about my body and all that goes along with it. I don’t mean in some sort of honorable, self-empowerment way… I’m talking obsession. I declined each and every invitation to go out with my friends and do regular things high school kids do because I feared it would prevent me from being about to work out to exhaustion or make me break the strict rules I had about what food I consumed. School mornings were spent thinking about lunch, and afternoons were spent planning my second workout of the day that I would complete once I got home. Then, homework… a bit of dinner… thinking about how hungry I am…finally, sleep. Attempting to sleep, I should say. Weekends were all about packing in as much exercise as I could. I’m not saying this to brag, because clearly these behaviors are absolutely nothing to brag about.
It’s just sad, really. During these crucial developmental years, I should have been trying out new things, developing a strong sense of self… figuring out who I really am. I didn’t do that. I don’t know who I am now. I’m still quite young, but I’m not even sure what kinds of things I like. If you asked me what my hobbies are, I would say exercising. Reading health and fitness articles. Typing in my calories on a calculator that should have been used for schoolwork. Those aren’t my hobbies—they’re just all that I know now. I hate those things. If you asked me what I spent the majority of my time doing, I would say looking at old pictures of me and crying because I would give nearly anything to look like that again. If you asked me what I like about myself, or something that I’m good at, I would say nothing.
Nothing.
I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m good at anything, I haven’t an inkling of knowledge about what I could possibly offer this world. My thoughts, in a nutshell, are as follows: Food. Body. Weight loss. Exercise. Calories. Fat. Carbs. Protein. Food. Food. Food. Fat. Failure. I walk to class with whispers in my head. She’s prettier. Her legs are half the size of yours. You don’t belong here. Stop making that face, idiot.
When did my life amount to this? Everything was fine until I turned sixteen. I was a pretty angsty junior high kid, but who isn’t? I went through the crazy heavy eyeliner phase, but who doesn’t? This isn’t what I wanted for myself. I look at pictures of myself as a kid, and I feel so guilty. I let her down so, so much. This isn't a life I would want for anyone. My friends have deserted me because I have too many problems. I go to therapy. I try. I don’t want to feel this way. Our minds have so much power, but how do you catch your negative thoughts when they’re more automatic than an inhale of air? I don’t know, but I wish I did.
Stop walking like that, you look huge—No, you’re beautiful. You’re fine—You’re so much bigger than every other girl here, why did you let yourself get to this?—No, you’re healthier now… you’re healthy. You’re good. You’re fine—Healthy isn’t as good as skinny. You’re not pretty, you’re just disgusting now.
The bad guy overpowers the good guy in the dark battlefield of my mind every time. It’s not even like there’s anything else I could possibly use to combat how ugly and huge I feel. I don’t like my personality, I don’t really have many talents or gifts. I just don’t know who I am. Do I like art? Maybe, I don’t know. Do I enjoy playing the piano? I used to, before this madness. Do I enjoy writing? I’m not even sure about that anymore. I don’t know anything about myself. Who am I?
I don’t know who I am right now. I’m nineteen years old. I have time-- I’ll get there. I’ll find myself, and I’ll love the person I find.
~~~
I’ve spent the last three or four years of my life constantly thinking about my body and all that goes along with it. I don’t mean in some sort of honorable, self-empowerment way… I’m talking obsession. I declined each and every invitation to go out with my friends and do regular things high school kids do because I feared it would prevent me from being about to work out to exhaustion or make me break the strict rules I had about what food I consumed. School mornings were spent thinking about lunch, and afternoons were spent planning my second workout of the day that I would complete once I got home. Then, homework… a bit of dinner… thinking about how hungry I am…finally, sleep. Attempting to sleep, I should say. Weekends were all about packing in as much exercise as I could. I’m not saying this to brag, because clearly these behaviors are absolutely nothing to brag about.
It’s just sad, really. During these crucial developmental years, I should have been trying out new things, developing a strong sense of self… figuring out who I really am. I didn’t do that. I don’t know who I am now. I’m still quite young, but I’m not even sure what kinds of things I like. If you asked me what my hobbies are, I would say exercising. Reading health and fitness articles. Typing in my calories on a calculator that should have been used for schoolwork. Those aren’t my hobbies—they’re just all that I know now. I hate those things. If you asked me what I spent the majority of my time doing, I would say looking at old pictures of me and crying because I would give nearly anything to look like that again. If you asked me what I like about myself, or something that I’m good at, I would say nothing.
Nothing.
I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m good at anything, I haven’t an inkling of knowledge about what I could possibly offer this world. My thoughts, in a nutshell, are as follows: Food. Body. Weight loss. Exercise. Calories. Fat. Carbs. Protein. Food. Food. Food. Fat. Failure. I walk to class with whispers in my head. She’s prettier. Her legs are half the size of yours. You don’t belong here. Stop making that face, idiot.
When did my life amount to this? Everything was fine until I turned sixteen. I was a pretty angsty junior high kid, but who isn’t? I went through the crazy heavy eyeliner phase, but who doesn’t? This isn’t what I wanted for myself. I look at pictures of myself as a kid, and I feel so guilty. I let her down so, so much. This isn't a life I would want for anyone. My friends have deserted me because I have too many problems. I go to therapy. I try. I don’t want to feel this way. Our minds have so much power, but how do you catch your negative thoughts when they’re more automatic than an inhale of air? I don’t know, but I wish I did.
Stop walking like that, you look huge—No, you’re beautiful. You’re fine—You’re so much bigger than every other girl here, why did you let yourself get to this?—No, you’re healthier now… you’re healthy. You’re good. You’re fine—Healthy isn’t as good as skinny. You’re not pretty, you’re just disgusting now.
The bad guy overpowers the good guy in the dark battlefield of my mind every time. It’s not even like there’s anything else I could possibly use to combat how ugly and huge I feel. I don’t like my personality, I don’t really have many talents or gifts. I just don’t know who I am. Do I like art? Maybe, I don’t know. Do I enjoy playing the piano? I used to, before this madness. Do I enjoy writing? I’m not even sure about that anymore. I don’t know anything about myself. Who am I?
I don’t know who I am right now. I’m nineteen years old. I have time-- I’ll get there. I’ll find myself, and I’ll love the person I find.