Yes, yes I know I know. I’m late, whatever. It’s difficult to talk about things when you can’t even make your brain focus on normal functions. Anyway.
Did you know that there’s not a single part about my appearance that I like? Not that I grimace every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, but when I really think about it, I realize that every single bit of me I feel could be removed or improved in some way. Like having a smaller nose so my profile isn’t so intimidating, or the obvious fat that lingers over every inch of me. I would gladly peel that off if I could. I would make my ears just a little smaller, my lips just a little bit fuller. My hair needs to be thicker, I have too many bald spots. My belly button is weird and my fingers are gangly like the branches on one of those dead trees. A witch’s hands. I have too many moles and freckles, my knees are knobbly and I’m slightly pidgeon-toed. And the butt. OH! The butt. Stupid butt.
Though, it really doesn’t help that I’m not entirely sure of what I actually look like anyway. I have the BDD, the body dysmorphic issue. It’s years of therapy and body image exercises later and it’s still a struggle. I look in the mirror and I wonder what everyone else sees. I see myself in pieces. The giant thighs. The ugly limbs. The oily, boyish cheeks.
I know hardly any one else cares, but I care. I care about how I’m entirely flawed on the outside (the inside is another matter). I care that some people see how bad looking I am. If I stop caring, they’ll start judging and seeing how lazy I am. Maybe if I insult myself first they’ll know I know and will think I’m better for it? Is that what I think? Why do I care? Why do some guy friends talk about how they met a Ten at the bar. What am I? A good 3 1/2, perhaps. Or less. My therapatized brain says a 10, at least on the inside, maybe a 9 out, but I don’t actually feel that way.
Every time I watch a documentary or read a book about healthy, wholesome weight loss (the kind that comes from good food choices, not limitation and deprivation) they mention how in order to change for the better we need to love ourselves and know that we deserve better food choices and healthier lifestyles. I don’t deserve anything, right? I deserve to be shut away and to come out only to be embarrassed and picked on for the joy of others.
No, it’s not all bad. Some days I feel almost confident. Overall I have very supportive friends and relatives, but it’s brain issues. Lately, the hate is getting worse. I’ve been taught to self love but I can’t fight it. I can’t love myself when I’ve failed at so much. So much. Very frustrating.
I’ll pick myself up again soon.