My reality is something I’m forced to face

I know it’s been said before, numerous ways by different people, and that it’s not an uncommon thing to say in this generation, but I hate myself. I truly do. I can name at least 10 things I hate about myself in less than 5 minutes but I can’t name at least 3 things I like about myself without taking an uncomfortable amount of time. I’ve made counselors uncomfortable because I could never complete that “What do you like about yourself” activity. Then they would change the topic and move on. I once had a counselor forbid me to use the phrase “I guess” in therapy. She would explain something logically, for example trying to make me care about my well being. My response would simply be “I guess”. She really did hate that phrase. I stopped saying it for the time I was in counseling, but it came back to me like a natural instinct of a bad addiction.

I look at myself and I recognize I am not what society deems as “beautiful”. I recognize that. Why? Because I am slightly above average in height, I’m all leg and arm (basically a gangly giraffe who didn’t grow into their height), and I have rather tiny feet that look disproportionate compared to my legs. I’m also not their definition of thin as I have curves which, while they are making a comeback, are not ideal in this day in age society. There is the main reason why I recognize that I am not deemed beautiful. It is the scars that line both of my arms and the words that you can read if you look hard enough. It is the scars on my hand that people always ask about, and I never have an acceptable lie to tell them. Because you can’t simply say “I have panic attacks and when I have one, I scratch the skin off of my hand with my nails”. No, this isn’t an answer a stranger wants to hear. I also have stretch marks. Yes I am 18 and I have stretch marks, and the reason behind this is simple, I’ve struggled with an eating disorder since I was in 6th grade. I have lost a lot of weight, I’ve been forced to regain that weight, then I’ve lost it again quite suddenly, and then the cycle repeats itself. So no, I’m not “beautiful” by society’s definitions.

I don’t think it’s society that has influenced my opinion of myself, and if it has, then it’s unconscious. I dislike myself for more than just my appearance, I dislike myself for my personality, my mood, my lack of interactions, my lack of energy etc. I could go on and on, but it gets ridiculous. I don’t know why I feel this hate towards my very own being, I’ve tried to learn to love myself, I really have. I mean, I’ve accepted the scars on my hands and arms as just a part of me, and I’ve accepted the fact that I’m gangly in legs and arms and will most certainly run into inanimate objects during the day. But for some reason, despite me being happy during points in my life, I still cannot love myself. Maybe it’s from the thoughts of suicide or of worthlessness, I honestly can’t tell you.

All I know is that I’ve accepted my fate. I know I’m never going to fully like myself. I’ve recognized this. But it doesn’t inhibit me from trying to love myself. I don’t like being miserable all the time you know. The only reason why I may seem cold and unfeeling is mostly because I’m hurting on the inside or I simply am feeling numb. I don’t know which feeling is worse to be honest.

So, this is my fate I suppose. I don’t think I’ll not ever change, rather, on the contrary, I think I will change, even if it’s just a little bit. My opinion could change, maybe I will wake up one day and not accept my fate and try a little bit harder. But until then, please don’t try to make me change my mind and hound me with constant praise. Because I don’t believe you. Whenever you say something like that, I will say thank you, but only because I’m being polite. So for now, I’ll keep doing me until someday I find a better way to do it. And with that, my final words on this topic are,

“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.” Aurelius