Mar 2018
I think I need to explain myself a little better than I did the other day about my self hatred. You said I should fix it and you are completely right but what you don’t know is that I’ve been doing that for years. For five years now, actually.
You see, my self hatred isn’t something I picked up along the way. It isn’t an emotion or feeling I scooped up while being shoved down the path of teen hood that happened to stay a little past it’s welcome. It isn’t something that begins and ends on the surface. It ranges much deeper than that.
Since I can remember I’ve been full of this ache like I’m homesick even though I’m home. Most of the time it’s dull, sometimes it’s crushing.
My self hatred was given to me. More so, my self hatred was forced upon me. My legs were pried open until I was splayed wide like a fish and my self hatred was injected inside. When it took root, there was no stopping her. She filled my head with fright and gave me nightmares. She told me she would **** me with the metal air vent. Even worse, she told me if I spoke a word to anybody, she’d **** my family. She let me know I was a bad girl and that I didn’t deserve anything. She made sure I walked with my head hung low, nose to the ground. She used the same fingers that gave me my self hatred to wrap tightly around my throat while she holstered herself atop of my body. As soon as I woke, it was time for me to sleep again because I was bad and if I ever questioned her my tongue was close to ripped from my mouth.
When they found out about my self hatred, the police were called and an investigation had begun. They placed me on top of a bed at the doctors and told me I was having “a different kind of checkup”. I was too young to understand. It didn’t matter, they shoved the scope inside anyways and found that my ***** was not totally intact any longer, confirming the affirmations as true. My mother broke.
So you see, when I say I don’t think I’m pretty what I really mean is, when I look in the mirror I see a body stuffed full of cellulite that jiggles when I move and shakes the ground when I walk. I see beady eyes staring back at me except it's not me. its a clone stuck in the world where I'm supposed to be while the real me is trapped inside the mirror. I don't recognize who's in front of me. I want to **** the clone because she thinks awful things about me. she lets me know that I'm meaningless, that no matter how many times I think I may burst through the glass it will never happen because I'm pathetic. I can't summon the courage to do what needs to be done. she lets me decide what I want to be then snatches it up from me with a snarling laugh and
I guess my point is, thank you for being concerned in my well being and suggesting me to make a change. My final point, I am. I have been. I’m better today than I was yesterday and tomorrow I will be better than I am today.
You see, my self hatred isn’t something I picked up along the way. It isn’t an emotion or feeling I scooped up while being shoved down the path of teen hood that happened to stay a little past it’s welcome. It isn’t something that begins and ends on the surface. It ranges much deeper than that.
Since I can remember I’ve been full of this ache like I’m homesick even though I’m home. Most of the time it’s dull, sometimes it’s crushing.
My self hatred was given to me. More so, my self hatred was forced upon me. My legs were pried open until I was splayed wide like a fish and my self hatred was injected inside. When it took root, there was no stopping her. She filled my head with fright and gave me nightmares. She told me she would **** me with the metal air vent. Even worse, she told me if I spoke a word to anybody, she’d **** my family. She let me know I was a bad girl and that I didn’t deserve anything. She made sure I walked with my head hung low, nose to the ground. She used the same fingers that gave me my self hatred to wrap tightly around my throat while she holstered herself atop of my body. As soon as I woke, it was time for me to sleep again because I was bad and if I ever questioned her my tongue was close to ripped from my mouth.
When they found out about my self hatred, the police were called and an investigation had begun. They placed me on top of a bed at the doctors and told me I was having “a different kind of checkup”. I was too young to understand. It didn’t matter, they shoved the scope inside anyways and found that my ***** was not totally intact any longer, confirming the affirmations as true. My mother broke.
So you see, when I say I don’t think I’m pretty what I really mean is, when I look in the mirror I see a body stuffed full of cellulite that jiggles when I move and shakes the ground when I walk. I see beady eyes staring back at me except it's not me. its a clone stuck in the world where I'm supposed to be while the real me is trapped inside the mirror. I don't recognize who's in front of me. I want to **** the clone because she thinks awful things about me. she lets me know that I'm meaningless, that no matter how many times I think I may burst through the glass it will never happen because I'm pathetic. I can't summon the courage to do what needs to be done. she lets me decide what I want to be then snatches it up from me with a snarling laugh and
I guess my point is, thank you for being concerned in my well being and suggesting me to make a change. My final point, I am. I have been. I’m better today than I was yesterday and tomorrow I will be better than I am today.
