Love Thyself

The scale for this part of the test was 0-5.

If you had a score of 2 or higher that meant you screened positive.

I score a 2.

Mild eating disorder. Nothing extreme like before, nothing I’m too surprised about either.

You never really stop feeling it, the innate feeling that you are not good enough. That your body is good enough.

I can look at pictures of me from before and think to myself “much too thin. Unhealthily thin.” And I think I’ve made progress.

I look in the mirror somedays and I like what I see, a slim yet fit girl at a 4’11 stature. No frail looking arms, no “abs” abnormally prominent at all times. A girl with a sweet face and a soft but toned stomach.

Other days are harder. I see a child. Hips not big enough, a face that is too full when I smile—memories of baby fat still aglow. Long arms but a short torso that feel oddly mashed together.

The hardest days are the ones when I feel the past mindset trickling in. Because those days I don’t need to eat more than a few bites of my food. As long as there are no headaches I am fine. I don’t need to eat another slice of pizza just because I’m not entirely full yet. My breasts are too big and abnormally placed on my chest, my stomach protrudes ever so slightly but enough to make my skin crawl.

I am in a world where I must be perfect. My size, my look, my entire being is scrutinized to make sure I still fit my “brand”. I am trying desperately to love myself in this world. Mentally? I may always score a 2, I may always live with a constant scratch in the record that causes me to think of old habits.

But I can also sit here and say that it’s a 2, not a 5. I doubt myself, but I know when I need help. This is a journey I must go on, sometimes I may need a guide along the way.

You can live with the thoughts of a 2, but always rely on the fact that you know how to get to 0.

That is hope I hold onto for myself. The idea that helps me know that self love is attainable for me.

Back for a Moment

I’ve been in college for approximately 2 months and I have grown into an entirely different person.

My hair is darker for starters, which has made me feel more mature in a way. I feel like a woman, an actual young woman who will be able to do grown up things and start a new life.

I’ve become more confident and unafraid to be myself. In high school I know I put up a front and now I shed that with ease, my friends receive my authentic personality and celebrate it with me.

Theatre is hard. It’s demanding. But it is my dream. Sometimes I falter, I get scared that I’m making the wrong choice; but then I remember they chose me. I am not here by mistake, I earned my spot and I will continue to prove that everyday.

I’m done being compliant, I’ve let people walk all over me my whole life. I’ve accepted the worst treatment, and never directly addressed problems. But now I do. I want my experience at Elon to be one of positivity, I’m tired of high school shit. I surround myself with people on the same plane of existence.

I’ve made my family here, and I love each and every one of them. Now, I have to start practicing loving myself more.

And there will be update on that later 🙂

The Difficult Perplexity that caused Distress

I would like to make a disclaimer for this post to say that I do not condone compromising your happiness to stay with someone that is toxic to your health. But I will say this: you do not choose to be mentally ill, it is out of your control sometimes. Disagree if you do, that’s ok I respect that, however I am an individual who at times does succumb to the struggles I have. I feel shame for this, and you must understand that your loved ones may feel ashamed as well for not being 100% ok all the time. While I understand you can only be patient for sometime I encourage you all to try and continue to love individuals and encourage them even on their worst days. Thank you for taking the time to read this. And to the person this post is for, I am sorry for disappointing you; you may say that I didn’t. But I know I did because I disappointed myself. I love you.

If you can’t love yourself how can you love someone else?

The very notion of this phrase stares me down and laughs at me; it tells me everyday that maybe I don’t deserve love, and I find that unfair.

Because everyday I wish, I pray my brain didn’t work the way it does. That I could read as many self help books, I could exercise and feel endorphins coursing through my veins, and somehow I would feel better.

I wish I could choose to be better, I wish that when I do choose it would stick. That it wouldn’t be a struggle some mornings to get out of bed and smile at a stranger. That it wouldn’t feel exhausting to eat or give myself basic care.

It’s easy for some. It’s so easy that you feel lazy. You feel like a bother, you feel like you don’t deserve to cry—to ask for a little more help. You feel disgusting, so unworthy. Pathetic.

I want to be better. I need to feel better. I feel like I’m screaming inside my head, screeching at the sky for some deity to rewire everything and make me new.

Sometimes I truly believe everyone would be better if I wasn’t me. If I was born with a completely healthy mind; one without baseless fears and paranoia, without the need for sensitivity, no gentle care needed the minute my fragility shows through.

Someone that didn’t need anyone. Someone that didn’t pretend that they were independent because the minute she would feel herself falter she could brush it away and smile.

But I can’t be her. I fucking wish I could, I wish more than anything in this entire world I could be that for everyone.

I wish it more than life itself.

So to answer the question, I can love others.

But I want so desperately to love myself, because that’s easier said than done.

What I’ve learned

1. You’re going to change your style every single year, it’s the key indicator of personal growth.

2. Friends aren’t jealous of friends. They celebrate others’ accomplishments not drown themselves in their own disappointments.

3. Love doesn’t hurt.

4. People notice happiness that you make for yourself, people will want to be near that. But don’t let them take it.

5. Own your talents.

6. Confidence doesn’t not equal cockiness.

7. People can say “I love you” and not mean it.

8. People enter your life in seasons for different reasons. It’s called ebb and flow.

9. Trust your gut. Always listen to intuition. Always.

10. Kindness and being nice are two different things.

11. People can try and tell you who you are, but most of the time they’re wrong.

12. Smile, laugh as loud as you can. Let them hear your joy.

13. Don’t forget to tell them you love them.

14. Life is so fucking fragile.

15. It’s ok to ask for help.

16. Do not let fear guide your life.

17. Talk. Say when something’s wrong, don’t bottle it up in a passive aggressive episode.

18. Lists are still really hard.

Forget me nots

I want to feel good again. I want the insecurities and scars of memories to leave my mind. I want to not constantly look over my shoulder for the bad times that always seem to creep in when things feel calm.

I want to forget the nights I’ve cried because I was stupid and didn’t see warning signs. I want to forget about the people that hurt me because I know I wouldn’t dare let it happen again.

I want to remember how beautiful I am. I want to remember how the curvatures of my body are something to be envied and that I don’t need to hurt myself to feel pretty. I want to get out of this endless loop of contemplating and complaining, of vexing accusations and void statements.

I have words for how I feel but I also have none. I have fear. Fear of what could be and fear of what isn’t said.

I am too precious to lose, I know that. But I also feel like this loss would be a breath of fresh air, that everyone would be better off.

Importance, a state of being that I don’t remember. I want to feel important I want to be important. I want to be the one.

I don’t want to be forgotten.

God Only Knows

It’s been 2 months since I wrote on here last, and I have no regrets. You see, I don’t know what to write; I don’t know what you all would like to hear, what stories I should tell. But I’ve missed it, I’ve missed sharing my thoughts onto a keyboard and letting the words take off while I zone out into a comfortable silence.

When I last wrote on here I said this world lacks love, now I look back and I realize what I truly meant; this world lacks empathy. In the place I live in people are so entitled, whether it be material or emotional–what they feel they deserve they will monopolize with no need for explanation. Everyone is guilty of this, no one is perfect, a simple flaw within the long list of humanity’s errors.

I feel like I’m different; I think I continuously look back and put myself into other shoes. I’m not entitled to anything but the happiness I create myself, and focusing on myself does not make me egotistical or rude. It gives me strength, a strength untouchable by sad individuals so crystalline you can see the tendrils of their heart writhing like an infestation. I feel sorry for them, but that’s their problem and not mine.

And I leave for college soon, I’m scared. But yet I am so ready to leave, to venture off into the world and find out who I was born to be. I will try to write more on here, I will try to convey how I am growing through not only my experiences but the way I describe them. I am thankful to those of you who have read my writing.

Happy reading 🙂

hello sunrise

 

 

I used to use this blog as a support system. I used to divulge all the key details of my life and every intimate feeling I stumbled across on this screen.

Now I just tell them, I tell the people I love what they mean to me instead of sharing it out into cyberspace. I think I used this as a crutch, a way to indirectly share what I felt. But that isn’t real, that isn’t the way life is. Things are fleeting and you have to tell the people who matter to you their worth to their faces. Pour out your heart, let the vulnerable stares encapture you and lead you to utter bliss of the unknowing.

I grieve, I am grieving. But I am also celebrating. I’m 102 pounds of light now, a healthy weight, a good weight. One filled with happiness and adoration for what life has given me.

I wish no pain upon those who have hurt me, I truly don’t. I put up this facade like I’m hard and sharp but I am delicate; it is a trait I now wear proudly. My heart is gentle, it is big, it is forgiving and I am thankful.

In this harsh world we lack love; we lack an understanding of each other, but when we hold on to the good things—the beautiful things—how then can the grays of this earth reach us?

These are new colors, I have not seen them before; I quite enjoy them, I really do.

Why.

 

You should’ve told me. I gave you every opportunity to confess even though the answer was right there the entire time, I was just hoping–praying–you wouldn’t hurt me like this. That you didn’t have the capacity to completely rip apart what little shreds of dignity I scraped along after him.

It’s not like December. Maybe in some raw form, but honestly if I take a clear look at the events of before and now, it’s day and night. You see, I had the courtesy, the respect, to be upfront about what happened between me and him. But you, you hid behind a fake facade of care and love to make yourself feel a little less guilty.

And I am hurting so much. This is to be expected from other people, people that we used to gawk and stare at incredulously; “How could someone do that” we’d ask each other “How can another girl sleep with her friend’s ex? They’re like sharing or something that’s so gross.” How could you do that? Especially knowing how I was with him not even a few days prior.

And I lied to you I’ll admit, I said that we weren’t going to hook up anymore. But that was a full, intentional lie. He told me to lie, said it was for the best and I fully believed that and I still kind of do. But then again I don’t. Because maybe you would’ve had a little bit more self control, maybe you would’ve remembered that I HATE LYING. Especially when you think it’ll make the truth a little bit more tolerable. But it doesn’t it makes it so much worst. It makes you wonder if every single memory of our friendship is fabricated and underlying with lies and betrayal.

It makes me wonder if you were ever my friend at all. You don’t care about me. Be honest with yourself and realize that “family” doesn’t do that shit. At least my family doesn’t. You only want me around because I care about you. You’re just like him. And don’t you dare say he cares about me ever again. I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re saying that more to yourself than me. Which sickens me even more.

I can’t sleep, I don’t have any care to eat or take care of myself properly. I just want to punch a wall until my knuckles bleed, or cry until my throat goes hoarse. Anything to get rid of the burning I feel anytime I look at you.

So why do you continue to interact with me? If you cared you would leave me alone, you would let me hurt and heal and wait until I was ready to look you in the eyes. But instead you make attempts to smile at me, to wave, to make a joke. Do you not understand I’m too weak to properly ward you off? That you have literally stabbed me in the back and each glance my way is another twist.

That every single time I see you two within feet of each other I wonder how two people I thought I loved, that I thought loved me don’t give a fuck as long as I’ll be around to catch them when they slip.

And I was just a pawn in both of your lives.

So tell me Why. Why should I forgive and forget?

 

Orange is the color of confusion and anticipation.

 

I do not know who I am. I sit here and I listen to these voices screaming over one another for my attention, my help, and I have no care. I can’t will myself to talk about the same problems and not have anyone consider the solutions I offer. I can barely will myself to care about my own well being.

I am dying. I can feel it. I know that something is dying off within me. I feel orange. I feel so orange all of the time. Who knows what is breathing its last breaths within me? Is it a physical thing? Or is my brain just slowly leaving me.

I can barely concentrate, I haven’t told anyone this but it’s harder for me to write down things, my brain jumbles up the words and my fingers fumble over themselves. I get more headaches, my mood swings ravage my mind and leave me dehydrated from all the tears I cry.

And I can’t stop thinking about love, and who deserves my love. Who I would want to say goodbye to when I finally leave, who I want to kiss.

I can’t stop thinking about kissing, the act of kissing, the meanings behind it. I can’t stop thinking about people noticing me. Am I noticeable? Have I left an imprint on the strangers I walk by.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? And why am I so orange?

Cosmic origins

The sun and moon are a perplexing duo.

Here she was, an emblem of light and beauty—the source of all life casting herself away so the pesky moon could have his moment from time to time. Or so everyone told her.

And the moon was a headache inducing disappearing act; only showing glimpses of himself before finally uncovering his full potential once every so often. Yes, he provided a cool glow in the dark of the night, and of course there were so many clichés about the beauty of the moonlight. But that wasn’t his real source of power.  He pulled people in just as he would the tides, intoxicating everyone in his wake.

This dark nature should have turned the sun away, as it had so many people before her, but instead it encouraged her. She wanted him to shine, to sparkle just like she did each morning.

My dear, the moon isn’t taking anything from our precious sun, she is simply carrying him with her light, with her love.