And the issue is…

Home, again. I find it hard to explain these things without being vague, and it’s because I don’t really want to talk about it. I’ve blogged several times about how lucky I am to be here, and the same things are conjured up in my mind every time something stabs me deep in the chest. I’ve been through it all, I’ve been to hell and back again, and I’m still here, after many times I’ve fought the feelings to run away or, worse still, end everything.

I could write again about the things I continue to say – about feeling happy inside, about being lucky, about the greatest illusion in life is that things will get better, about staying positive, about having something to look forward to. People will go on saying the same things but it’s not getting to the end of it that counts.

It’s the fact that you fucking went through and endured it.

At home, I don’t want to say what’s happening. But it’s been bothering me so much, making me very emotional. Part of it has made me feel negatively about my body image, something I’ve never really openly admitted until now. I’m thin… and I admit it. I’m not fat… and I admit it. After years I realised I put on weight around my stomach, nowhere else. There were times I was younger I felt more plump than lean, times I’d endlessly sucked my stomach in just because I felt fat.

And I promise you, throughout high school, it alleviated. I didn’t care about my size, assuring myself I was fine. I weighed the same for almost five years of my life, but I cared little for numbers a lot of the time. I stopped worrying about how I looked. You’ll find that when I rant about things like this, I know and understand that weight is not anything to go by.

When I started having colon problems it just all came back again and times when my digestive system acted up, I just hated the huge belly it gave me. It was horrible and I hated it. More recently, I tried to make myself throw up my dinner, and I’ve been running to the point where I nearly collapse because I just want to stay thin.

For years I hated my thighs. I hated them a lot. I thought they got bigger the more bike riding I did, and I tried walking more to make them thinner. It honestly, bothered me so much until James told me that they weren’t fat. He told me they were a dancer’s thighs, and they weren’t fat, just muscle. It was like, just like that, I felt better about them after years of hating how they were.

There are days when I feel good about myself, and days when I just hate how I look and feel. We all have our good and bad days. Now I don’t really know where I’m going, but I hope that I can just console myself and tell myself I’m fine, that I look fine, that I will be fine. No matter how many times I get stressed out.

It’s been difficult at home, and not just with this. With other things. I’ve been hurt emotionally and physically and I swear I’ve tried everything to the moon and back. I can’t do much about it. I’ve talked to so many people and listened to the words of many people but it is the same thing that makes me get through each and every day, and it is simply that things will get better.

It’s not just that, either. It makes me sad for people who say “no, it won’t”. I know it’s hard to stay positive but if you’re forever letting yourself drown in the pits, how can it ever get better when you focus on the bad things? Sometimes I just want to be blunt and say, dude, have faith and have heart.

Comments are closed.