This is not for pity, this is not wanting someone to take care of me, this is just as it is, as it was then and what I hate.
I’ve had a long standing struggle with self-image the last decade. For two to three years recently I pretended all was alright. I still pretend that time of my life never happened and all was fine. There’s only one photo of myself during that period. An image that I was still functioning projected to all others whilst staying indoors nearly every hour. Scared like hell to face a mirror, to walk outside, even amongst those who don’t know me. Constantly living in irrational fear of judgement from perfect strangers. A comfortable bubble. It took ages to accept myself slowly. To accept what I saw in the mirror was ok. To face friends I hadn’t seen in ages. Slowly I’ve built myself back up to the point I feel comfortable about my body but there still exists a lingering splinter. Self-image is only a fraction of the actual root issue when you have poison flow through your mind. And yet I deny acceptance that there’s a deeper underlying issue.
I’m tired of trying to find some sense of joy day by day. And more often than not I find myself on the edge of falling. I’m not there yet. I’ve a schedule. Devoid of colour, night by night. I’m too tired for this. I can’t stop thoughts of wanting to end my life from rushing in. Even writing this out I want to delete it all for how juvenile it feels. But it’s how I feel. Raw.
-It’s ok to cry, to stop acting all the time.
-I called my father in tears today.
-I’m not ok, I’m not alright but that’s ok.
-I wanted to throw myself off the balcony today.
-Writing this helped.
