Did you know that I cry myself to sleep frequently? Did you know that I am haunted by scars on my hips and stomach everyday? It's hard to imagine that my mind is quite unique from the ones that I've met. It's hard to accept that I am not what people say that I am, and I still have to hear the lies and the rumors often.
Would you guess that I was put in a ward for suicidal ideation? Could you tell by just looking at me, that I tried to take my own life in front of my Mother and Father? I figured. You can't tell these things by looking at me, but you can tell I'm broken. When I walk down the hallways everyday with my head down and my earbuds in, blasting the noise to numb the pain. You can tell by the way I walk that I truly don't want to be here anymore? The weight I carry around with me is hard to bare everyday, and it's even harder to accept, but it's easier to let it numb you.
Did you know that every time I look in the mirror, I actually start crying? Did you know that I have thought about cutting off my own skin... just to achieve the thoughts of being skinnier? Being called fat and overweight can truly make you feel like you are. That what you see in the mirror will never be enough. That your thighs should always be a little more narrow, that your arms should be a little more thinner. That your stomach should be a little bit flatter, that your face should be a little bit prettier. It's always a thrive for perfection. Perfection; that's what killed me. Or, almost did. It's what made me want to be killed. The thirst for being beautiful, and being good enough always taunted me in my mind, and made me realize that I'll never be enough for anyone, or myself. The realization that your body will never be loved by you is the day that I almost committed suicide in front of the ones I love.
Could you tell that I hate myself? Did you know that I can name a million things that I hate about myself, or that I'd like to change, but not a single thing that I liked about myself? It's selfish; to myself. To think that I've never given myself the time of day to improve myself, because I never cared about it that much.
Did you know that I barely sleep? If, when you first met me, would you know that I cannot dream of beauty and a world of loveliness. Could you tell that I wake up screaming some nights; in terror and in fear? Did you know that I keep a knife under my mattress just to feel safe, or that I wake up crying because my dreams were too much to bare the past?
Did you know that I starved myself? Did you know that I had an eating disorder? Did you know that I punished myself by not eating? I never cared about my health enough to pick up the fork. I was punishing myself, for not being good enough; hoping that my discipline would help me finally be good enough. Would you guess that for a while, I took a pill instead of eating? Did you know that every time, after I ate, I'd purge myself in hopes that it'd make me a little skinnier. Did you know that I cut out pictures of models in magazines and kept them to model off of? Just so that I could look like them. I'd motivate myself with the pictures, so that I would know what I should look like to finally be good enough for someone. Only so that someone could love me..
Did you know that I am actually happy? Could you notice that I met a boy, that made me feel like there was some beauty left in the world? Could you tell that he left kisses on my forehead and a smile on my lips? Would you know that he makes me feel worth it? Knowing that there is always someone there is good; but it's even better when you know that people will never 'always' be there. People are humans, and humans are cruel; they break promises they can never keep. I wanted to be independent, but being left alone with my thoughts was the worst of them all. Being left alone with myself was like being locked in a room full of demons that would never let you escape. Although, I am locked in a room with him, with his perfectness, with his love, and with him. He's a good motivation, he's a good lover, he's a good hope, and a good happiness.
But the cruel truth is... I'm not afraid of death, I've died a thousand times before. I am afraid of breaking my Mother's heart because I died before she even had the chance to. I am scared of what comes after, I am scared of nobody loving me without me here. I am scared that everyone will be sane, and never go crazy. And the inevitable truth that I will most likely never look in the mirror and see gorgeousness and beauty is what scares me the most. That all I was, was never enough.
