Current Music: State Street Residence - Death Cab for Cutie
I wonder.
My life has been normal and fairly easy. It's hard to tell myself that because I haven't lived any other life to compare it too. I want to think my life has been strange or difficult but I can't say that it has. I'm the strange and difficult one, with my indifference to decorum and stubborness.
I wouldn't love me any other way.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
I'm busy making paper airplanes.
Current Music: Miss Halfway - Anya Marina
Confident. Witty. Funny. Charming.
Yes, thank you, I am.
Fat. Slovenly. Lazy. Disgusting.
Except for the last, I wouldn't argue with you.
Only I can call myself disgusting without having to suffer the sting of verbal assault. I get to hear all the horrible things I have to say about me all the time without physical articulation anyway.
I understand that the people I love, and who love me, don't see me this way. Oddly, it's the people who I don't care about that I worry about. Not to mention the unfortunate fact that I weigh about as much as my two best friends combined. Most the time, I'm just happy that I'm not having to pay the cover fee twice at clubs. (I'm going to save that burn for later)
It's not that I don't think I'm fantastic. It's just that I feel literal disgust when I see myself. The person in the mirror is not that firecracker with a sharp tongue that I usually feel like. The only thing hot about me when I'm seeing myself naked are the tears shyly making their way to my neck, burning with shame.
I've made progress on myself before. I can touch my toes. Shit, my current Love goes a wobbly because I'll pretzel my feet behind my head for him. It used to be hard to see my feet at all. None of that matters in the now. Now I still hate myself. Now I want to cut my fat off with my own bare hands because a body of scar tissue would be better than this sweaty layer of regret I wear. At least scar tissue wouldn't be visible no matter what I wear.
It's wrong to hate myself this much. It's wrong that I can't stop myself from emotionally or even indifference eating. You know, eating because there isn't anything else to do. All the makeup in the world doesn't stop a pig from being anything but a pig.
oink oink.
Confident. Witty. Funny. Charming.
Yes, thank you, I am.
Fat. Slovenly. Lazy. Disgusting.
Except for the last, I wouldn't argue with you.
Only I can call myself disgusting without having to suffer the sting of verbal assault. I get to hear all the horrible things I have to say about me all the time without physical articulation anyway.
I understand that the people I love, and who love me, don't see me this way. Oddly, it's the people who I don't care about that I worry about. Not to mention the unfortunate fact that I weigh about as much as my two best friends combined. Most the time, I'm just happy that I'm not having to pay the cover fee twice at clubs. (I'm going to save that burn for later)
It's not that I don't think I'm fantastic. It's just that I feel literal disgust when I see myself. The person in the mirror is not that firecracker with a sharp tongue that I usually feel like. The only thing hot about me when I'm seeing myself naked are the tears shyly making their way to my neck, burning with shame.
I've made progress on myself before. I can touch my toes. Shit, my current Love goes a wobbly because I'll pretzel my feet behind my head for him. It used to be hard to see my feet at all. None of that matters in the now. Now I still hate myself. Now I want to cut my fat off with my own bare hands because a body of scar tissue would be better than this sweaty layer of regret I wear. At least scar tissue wouldn't be visible no matter what I wear.
It's wrong to hate myself this much. It's wrong that I can't stop myself from emotionally or even indifference eating. You know, eating because there isn't anything else to do. All the makeup in the world doesn't stop a pig from being anything but a pig.
oink oink.