I wish I could stop.
I'm getting better
Alot better,actually.
So much so I'm questioning typing this.
My audience may not be as understanding as I.
But if you all can be raw
Without fear of reprimand
For your thoughts are your thoughts
And your feelings are your feelings
Why should I fear?
I need to get this out.
I have triggers now.
More triggers,great.
Once upon a time
Those triggers were normal
For us millenials.
A door slamming.
Yelling.
**** men.
Now,
It's scales.
Something I'd never feared.
It's the mirror.
Something I'd never wanted to break.
It's the the feeling I get
Right before I *******
My running shoes.
The feeling of being trapped
Into doing something I 'd rather not
Yet feel forced to.
It's innocent comments
Innocent questions
That while I was never huge
And matter-of-factly shrinking
Take me back to the mirror
To question any ounce
Anything extra.
It's clothes
I have so many clothes.
And I hate the vast majority.
They don't camouflage.
They don't blend.
They open the door for triggers.
It's makeup
Something I used to love
For years
That now
I question.
I wonder if it's to play with my features
Or to over-compensate for something I now know
I don't have.
This has taken me over:
These triggers.
And all it took
Was one response
to a question
I'd asked.
One comment that acted on senior triggers
So much so
that it created new ones.
It's funny how the mind works.
I'm not mad.
I'm really not sad, either.
And I eat
I told you all I'm getting better.
I'm just a girl
Seeking an attainable goal
Who unfortunately
Until then
Will have this looming
In the back of her mind.
And almost everyday
I wish
I never would've asked that question.
I'm sick of loving myself
Conditionally.
I want makeup to only be
For ***** and giggles.
I don't want to hide
In clothes anymore
And when I'm not hiding
I don't want to question my choices.
I want numbers
To simply be numbers
Not those individualizing
A jail cell.
I want comments
To slide off my back
Not slide to the dark corner of my mind
Where I place those things
I don't want to remember;
Into my subconscious,you could say.
I want to be wholly happy with myself
and with the things I used to love.
Emphasize,don't sympathize.
I promise I'm fine.
But isn't this a place of raw honesty?
Where even the fine can place their subconscious in text?
Until then,I guess.
I'm just a girl.
