I want.. so much, to feel confident, to look in the mirror without feeling sick, without having to fix myself until i've done nearly everything i can, even though it still doesnt help. Looks aren't supposed to matter... but i just feel repulsing and unattractive. My low self-esteem and overly self conscious ways have progressed so horridly that not only will i not wear/be seen in a bathing suit (much less shorts, tank tops w/o sweatshirts, bras, underwear, capris, etc.-anything showing much skin) i will cry and be launched into a massive panic attack if i even think about being seen in any of those items. I'm haunted by my body and looks, and a prisoner to my uncontrollable, overwhelming insecurity. My weight is a chain around my squat ankle, the deformity that is my face is a doubled up synder block strapped to my rotund back, and my deep, hazardous vacillation is the thick, heavy quick sand i carry them in.
And sure, they try and tell you "no babe, you're pretty", "no, you're not ugly", but how obvious can the pity get? No matter who tells me what i will always see what i see until i change what i loathe and am satisfied to the point that maybe a skirt that hits my knees could be a possibility (if need be).
This, ladies and gentlemen, is where i would normally be coasting my keen razor along the surface of my forearms just deep enough to lightly scratch the vein as to where it would bleed steadily enough to appease my need for my deserved bloodshed. Alas, instead of my silver razor, is my keyboard, in place of my arm, is this blog, and in lieu of my blood, are these words strewn across the screen. And yet... i still prefer a sliced wrist.
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