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Share Dialog
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i stare at myself, and i stare and i stare, and i exceedingly care;
when i stare and i stare, it’s a strange nightmare;
i stare and i stare and i can identify some flaw on my body or my face in everything that i wear;
i stare and i stare and i care too much and it’s not fair;
it’s not fair that i was cursed with this debilitating illness that is utterly treacherous to bear;
sometimes i feel as if my ailments are beyond repair;
i nitpick every blemish, imperfection, and scar;
and the cognitive distortions enhance each one by far;
and each fictitious malformation is equally bizarre;
sometimes the constant fixation of my flaws;
and these absurdly false deformities, are the cause;
of my emotional outbursts and episodes of doubt;
sometimes my insecurities deter me from merely going out;
i cant go out, because the mascara is smudged around my face;
i cry an awful lot, but in this case;
i was so unstable and weak that i couldn’t help but weep;
sometimes i wish i wouldn’t fall in so deep;
deep into the pit of darkness, self-criticism, and fear;
sometimes i wish everything wasn’t so painfully severe;
i stare at my thighs, and i think they’re too thick;
i stare at my face and each pimple or blemish makes me sick;
i stare at my hair and it’s too frizzy, too wild, there’s too many baby hairs, it’s this, it’s that, and i nitpick;
my mind truly races so quick;
i stare at my stomach— it’s too stubby, it’s too large, it’s not flat enough, i look bloated, i should skip yet another meal today to compensate for my perception of my torso, yeah, that should do the trick;
i stare at my body to the point deliberate restriction;
and what i find to be sad;
and this is crucial to add;
is that the rational part of me is aware that the irrational part of me creates all of these excruciating ideas in my brain which are undoubtedly fiction;
not to mention the constant friction;
within myself and this relentless internal contradiction;
i hope and i pray that i get to see the day;
that this pain will at least begin to fade away;
the day that i don’t worry how many calories i ate each day;
the day that i don’t stare at myself with the upmost disgust;
the day that i begin to trust;
and that trust must begin within my own mind;
i hope i see the day that i can remotely unwind;
i hope i see the day that i can abolish the brutal memories of all the times that i have self-maligned;
most importantly, i hope i have the pleasure of absorbing the day;
that i can let go of the need for perfection, and i can accept myself, be as it may;
i’ve always had this desire to be “pretty”;
but i think i’ve really just wished to ensure that i’m skinny—without any pity;
i guess i would rather always feel excessively shitty;
than take a step back and process my life;
process certain methods in avoiding both internal and external strife;
i’ve been self-destructive for as long as i can recall;
but my most prominent self-destructive behavior of all;
is the overall betrayal of my own body as whole;
as i have neglected to care for it, and when i was in pain, and i was hurt in my soul;
i damaged it, and now the damage is out of much of my control.
i stare at myself, and i stare and i stare, and i exceedingly care;
when i stare and i stare, it’s a strange nightmare;
i stare and i stare and i can identify some flaw on my body or my face in everything that i wear;
i stare and i stare and i care too much and it’s not fair;
it’s not fair that i was cursed with this debilitating illness that is utterly treacherous to bear;
sometimes i feel as if my ailments are beyond repair;
i nitpick every blemish, imperfection, and scar;
and the cognitive distortions enhance each one by far;
and each fictitious malformation is equally bizarre;
sometimes the constant fixation of my flaws;
and these absurdly false deformities, are the cause;
of my emotional outbursts and episodes of doubt;
sometimes my insecurities deter me from merely going out;
i cant go out, because the mascara is smudged around my face;
i cry an awful lot, but in this case;
i was so unstable and weak that i couldn’t help but weep;
sometimes i wish i wouldn’t fall in so deep;
deep into the pit of darkness, self-criticism, and fear;
sometimes i wish everything wasn’t so painfully severe;
i stare at my thighs, and i think they’re too thick;
i stare at my face and each pimple or blemish makes me sick;
i stare at my hair and it’s too frizzy, too wild, there’s too many baby hairs, it’s this, it’s that, and i nitpick;
my mind truly races so quick;
i stare at my stomach— it’s too stubby, it’s too large, it’s not flat enough, i look bloated, i should skip yet another meal today to compensate for my perception of my torso, yeah, that should do the trick;
i stare at my body to the point deliberate restriction;
and what i find to be sad;
and this is crucial to add;
is that the rational part of me is aware that the irrational part of me creates all of these excruciating ideas in my brain which are undoubtedly fiction;
not to mention the constant friction;
within myself and this relentless internal contradiction;
i hope and i pray that i get to see the day;
that this pain will at least begin to fade away;
the day that i don’t worry how many calories i ate each day;
the day that i don’t stare at myself with the upmost disgust;
the day that i begin to trust;
and that trust must begin within my own mind;
i hope i see the day that i can remotely unwind;
i hope i see the day that i can abolish the brutal memories of all the times that i have self-maligned;
most importantly, i hope i have the pleasure of absorbing the day;
that i can let go of the need for perfection, and i can accept myself, be as it may;
i’ve always had this desire to be “pretty”;
but i think i’ve really just wished to ensure that i’m skinny—without any pity;
i guess i would rather always feel excessively shitty;
than take a step back and process my life;
process certain methods in avoiding both internal and external strife;
i’ve been self-destructive for as long as i can recall;
but my most prominent self-destructive behavior of all;
is the overall betrayal of my own body as whole;
as i have neglected to care for it, and when i was in pain, and i was hurt in my soul;
i damaged it, and now the damage is out of much of my control.
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