As tragically clichéd as it may sound, the words “I hate myself,” resonate, because I honestly do.
It is funny how one begins this life with so much hope and optimism, and as we age those once charming traits transform into disappointment and numbness. Disappointment, as past mistakes mar future endeavors, and numbness, as it is the only way that one can cope.
I pretend the thoughts of other people regarding me are of no consequence, but I know that every action that I ever taken in my entire my life was to gain approval and love. Knowing full well that the decisions that I have made were not in my best interest, I still continue. This compulsion to appease others is so overwhelming, so stifling, that each day becomes harder to live with myself, harder to look myself in the mirror.
“Maybe if | lose more weight I will be pretty enough,” as my ribs jet out from beneath my skin. “Maybe if I just stay quiet and not press the matter, it will go away.” “Maybe it would be better if I never existed at all.” These are the thoughts that race through my head on a daily basis—but they will never know, and I doubt that they would even care. Perpetuating this fragile veneer of happiness is becoming increasingly difficult. So, good people, this is me:
-I am a failed University Student
-I have an eating disorder
-I am in so much debt
-I hate my dead-end job
-I desperately want to return to university, but I am so afraid that I will fail again. I cannot bring myself to even complete the application, because I look so pathetic on paper.
-I lie to everyone about my circumstances, because I do not want them to know what an utter loser that I am.
-I lash out at the only person who cares about me.
-I am with a man who only likes me because of the way I look.
-I am surrounded by “friends,” but my loneliness is crippling.
-I want to die.
I am a quivering wreck, but I want to change that. How? I do not know exactly. But, I would imagine the first step is learning to like me, and perhaps, dare I say, love me.