Distorted image....

Now if you have ever had image issues, you will know that how I see myself is far from what I look like. But there is no way that you can tell my head that. I try but I'm like a child with ADD, I just look at something else that is shiny. Well I have been having a rough week. Hence the no posting because I couldn't explain how or why I was feeling that way. I know, me who has nothing to say. I finally found some way of letting it loose on Facebook last night. It is much easier for me to share my feelings as fiction writing rather than to let everyone know that I am hurting. Those that read it can just enjoy my writing without worrying about me. There are those that know me much better and can see the signs on the wall, but they also know that it is something that I have to work out myself. I have a hard time asking for help, unless I am really drowning, and then sometimes it can be too late.

I have an image of myself as a strong woman that can take on the world without even so much as breaking a nail. Of course I am a size 24 at the largest, and have a heart and will that can move mountains. When in fact, I am just as insecure and scared as a child. I can play the part, but is that all I can do is to play the part? I used to be so self assured and held my head up high and was closer to what I picture myself as. Where did I lose that? And why did I lose it? Well after a week of thinking and things triggering my self destructive thoughts, such as clothes catalogs, infomercials of thin people who have lost 25 pounds and are amazed, etc. I kept coming to that deep dark side in me that hates myself. This is what was posted last night on Facebook.

She has been here before. Something keeps drawing her to this very place. Her stomach churns with the thought of the image that is before her. It isn't her, it can't be her. That image that smirks and looks down upon her, how can it judge her? But it does. This image of hatred that peers so deeply into her soul. Without hesitation, she pierces the image with the knife. The mirror does not break but the image bleeds. She feels empowered, but faint at the same time. Until she sees her own wrists. The image was her, how could she not have seen it....

Now if you are to talk to my mother, you would think that I should be on suicide watch. Thankfully I am not. I am much stronger than that. Or maybe I should say that I can not bear to put those that love me through that. I may not care much about my life at times but I do care about those that I would leave. It would make me sick to know that they were suffering at the stupidity of my own hand.


However you see this, weather you see me as just an emotional prima donna or as a torchered soul, it makes no difference to me. I feel what I feel no how twisted it may be at times. And until I can break free from these ideas of myself I am afraid that I will be doomed to repeat history so to speak. Which I can see happening now. All of the weight that I had lost before and since surgery two (yes I said TWO) years ago, which was a mere 60-80 pounds give or take the month, has been creeping back on. If I don't stop this spiral of negativity I will get lost and not sure that I will be able to return from there. 


I keep trying though.