I've known for a long time that i had problems. I know what they are called.
I'm a body dysmorphic and a major depressive. Ever since I was a little kid I thought I was fat. I envied the girls around me. All slim and pretty. I always hated my body. I still hate it.
I want to be flat all over. No curves. No boobs. Nothing. I want to be, like, unhealthily skinny. I feel sick. I may as well look it.
I forget to eat a lot at school. I drink a lot of tea to fill meals I forget. I figure if I wait out the food service hours I can convince myself to wait.
I have so many problems I can't believe I've not started puking yet. I tried the one time and I just scratched the hell out of my soft pallet. I blame no one.
I just want to be happy.
I can't even be happy in my own body. How am i supposed to be happy with other people in my life when i hate myself so much. I am desperate to be propped up by others telling me I'm pretty.
Nothing anyone says really makes a difference though. Every time someone says I'm pretty I just roll my eyes, but inside I'm somewhat relieved. Just a bit.
I just wish I could die and be remade by the cosmos as something better. Maybe a flower or a bug. Something that doesn't need to be classified as beautiful, but in the eyes of others will always be so beautiful.
Maybe my life has only really had meaning on a beauty standard. I hate my mind for being so sharp. If I was dumber then nothing would matter.
Smart and pretty is awful. You're always aware of the flaws and desire transformation. You always want to fix it, but it's hopeless.
Everything is hopeless.