How did I wind up with thoughts and values that aren’t my own? Why do I question when people tell me I’m beautiful? When people tell me I’m worthy of love? Why do I believe that my happiness is determined by a number on a scale, or the width of my waistline? Why do I lie in bed at night praying that tomorrow morning I won’t wake up? How did I wind up this way? Why was I born with a fucking serotonin deficiency that totally skews my reality? I’m privileged. I’m educated. I’m loved. The fact that I feel this way is a total joke. But it’s the way I feel all the same.
I miss the uninhibited Bella I used to be. Honestly the chubby girl was way more fun than this obsessive-compulsive, anxiety-ridden control freak. But I can’t find myself. Anywhere. I’m searching hard. I keep running away, hopping environments, hoping that a change of scenery will change my head. But no matter where I go my thoughts are still with me.
I have a question for all my friends out there. Do you really love me? Would you really notice if I disappeared? Would you still be drawn to me if I weren’t the smallest person in the room? If I succumbed to the pressure and ate a piece of cake?
Am I really beautiful? Am I really worthy of life and love?
I’m not seeking attention here. I’m not pulling these questions out of my ass. These are the thoughts that run through my head 24/7 and I’m sick of pretending they’re not there because it’s fucking exhausting and I’m tired of lying and I want help and I want love and I want friends and I want happiness and I want control of my life.
I feel like my life is pointless. Like I’m a waste of space. I just want to be done with everything. I’m under too much pressure. No matter what I do or say I’ll never be good enough. For who, I don’t know. I guess for myself. I know this pressure is totally self-inflicted. But it’s still pressure and it’s still weighing me down and I can’t seem to rise above it.
I starved myself because it was my penance for being a shitty person. It made the shame a little more bearable. But now I’m not starving. I’m full. Not just of calories, but of guilt and shame. I “fixed” myself, and in the process, I lost my identity. I gave up. I gave in. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m lost. So I’m just asking for help here. Help to fix myself, to find myself, to love myself. To find out who I am outside of my anxiety, my depression, and my eating disorder. I need to find out who I am. ‘Cause I’m close to giving up.
I want to make a difference in the world! I want to help people! I want to do something meaningful!
I really do want to recover. I really do. A part of me doesn’t. But most of me does. That’s the part I want to channel. I just need some help, some support. I need to find some purpose. I’m hoping that sharing my story and reaching out to the world will help me and will help other people. So I’m writing this blog. It’s time to be an open book.