Mean Girls

I look in the mirror and check myself before I leave. "That's as good as it's going to get," I sigh sadly. I see more spots come up and what I thought was smudged mascara actually turns out to be blue bags that aren't going anywhere. Great. The makeup has dealt with the worst, but nothing can hide my god awful stomach and shitty mood. I tear myself away from the mirror before I can muse anymore and make my mood worse still.

*****

Food. That is another topic which can be a touchy subject. Everyone I know is debating over whether or not to have that chocolate bar. People come back from the shop with chocolate, sweets or crisps in hand saying "I am being a fat shit," or "I shouldn't be eating this," or "I am being so bad today." I count myself among those, in fact every single mouthful of food feels wrong, feels like I am contributing to the obesity epidemic.

*****

I hear girls criticising each other for being too thin, for being too fat, for thinking they are too high maintenance with their appearance, or not high maintenance enough. I hate myself for not exercising enough, yet sometimes find myself sneering at the "gym bunnies" (though for that there is always the silent retort of "well at least they won't get diabetes")

Why do we do this to ourselves? This seems like a battle we can't win. We'll either be too fat, too thin or too obsessed. We are catty and jealous towards each other about the superficial things, and then it seeps into our own thought patterns. It is destructive, horrible, and utterly futile. By being this mean about ourselves, are we just doing a Mean Girls-esque thing where we make it ok for guys to treat us in the same way?

Carry On

I lay there clock watching and as my alarm went I lazily swang my arm round and whacked the snooze button. As usual I had woken up just before I needed to. It seems to happen a lot now, regardless of how well or badly I slept. As I lay there I knew that today was going to be another one of those days. The one where you can't move and the very idea of people and what they may or may not think of you seems too much to handle. I felt like every single part of me was made of lead, and my eyes still felt fuzzy with sleep, even though I'd woken up a good 20 minutes ago. I never know how this happens. One minute I will be motivated and ready for anything and quick as a flash it can evaporate and turn sour. There doesn't even always have to be a reason. Today the voices are particularly loud. Those insecurities that seem to forever sit in the back of my mind are vying for attention and causing chaos. I am happy it isn't raining again, but I feel exhausted. I am not ready for today. I am really not. I tell myself I only have an hour to get through, but that does little to help. It isn't until my housemate comes into my room to make sure I am working (obviously I am not) and sees I am still wrapped in my duvet that I am forced out of bed and into the shower. I try to hold back the tears but today is particularly rough. I let the hot water rush over me and inhale the smell of shampoo and body wash. Life isn't all bad. But the shower didn't help. My usual rebellion of putting on makeup and making myself human hasn't worked. I still find myself in the foetal position wishing the world away.
"Will it always be this hard?" I wonder aloud. It is a miracle I am even dressed. I begin to wonder if anything is going to make this go away. I miss the old me. I miss the girl who is virtually a stranger to me. She wasn't always defeated just by the idea of seeing people, or rather people seeing her. I find myself asking what I should do in this situation, and how to carry on. My answer?

To hope. To love. To smile. To cry. To laugh. To write.

I hope that tomorrow will be better and if not tomorrow, then the next day. I hope that one day I will find the girl slipping from my grasp. I love. I love my family, my friends and all of the people who make my life a little easier without realising it. I try to tell them as much as possible, to remind myself, as much as them how lucky, how grateful I am. I smile through the tears, and muster up the courage to take a shot at happiness, even if it doesn't always work. I cry, I cry because it hurts. I cry because sometimes it is too much. I laugh because it is the moments of joy that I need to forget the pain, even if it is only for a moment. Finally, I write because it helps. I write because I want you to understand me. I write because I want to understand myself. In writing I can say the words I daren't speak aloud.