Recently, I have made some very big changes in my life. I’ve moved away from home for the first time. I’m living 2,300 miles away from the only town I’ve ever lived in. I have a job working in a used bookstore and it is truly wonderful. I miss my family, but I am genuinely happy that I have made this step.
Not everything is good, though. I have always struggled with my weight and my self-confidence. For some reason, since moving here I have become obsessed with my body. It is all I think about. How much I hate it, how much I could change it, how much I hate myself for not being willing to cut out carbs/starches/grains/dairy/etc and exercise for a couple of hours every day for the rest of my life. I am living a miserable, obsessive existence right now in a way I don’t think I ever have before.
I HATE that I can’t walk into a store and find clothing that fits me. I hate myself even more. I HATE that I have to shop in special clothing stores where the clothes are made for an 80 year old woman. I hate myself even more. I hate that the only things I can find that make me feel even somewhat trendy are accessories: shoes, jewelry, headbands because they always fit. I hate myself even more.
My best friend,whom I moved in with, is stunning. Always has been. She has her own body image issues and I completely understand that. However, in recent years she seems to have gotten over them a little bit. I cannot overstate how happy it makes me that she can now look at herself and know how gorgeous she is. But also, it is really hard for me. I feel alternately invisible beside her or completely grotesque. This has nothing to do with her. She is really good about going shopping with me, even knowing that it is very likely I will end up in tears. She must get tired of me talking about my weight, but she never mentions it. I hope she doesn’t feel like any of my feelings are due to anything she has done, because they aren’t. But I can’t deny that it isn’t difficult.
I’m going to be writing about this more in the hopes that it will serve as a sort of catharsis, but I also don’t want anyone to feel hurt/offended/implicated in my feelings. These are just my ramblings. Just an attempt to bleed out some of the bile that lives inside of me in the hope that one day I can fill that space with love for myself, or at the very least tolerance.
I talk a lot of shit for someone who panics while ordering food at restaurants.