“You see, Bill was all clawed up. Holding his insides in his hands.”
I found Sam way too sexy when he was possessed.
Didn’t Jo die while trying to hold in her insides after being clawed up too
How dare you
So I was meant to be asleep, like, over an hour ago. I have to start work in around 8 hours and yet, here I am, allowing my somewhat disturbing thoughts to plague my mind once again. I just found myself obsessively going through my own photos (on facebook and in other places) viewing and reviewing how fat I and have become. This is not normal. None of this is normal. Which is why I guess I’m writing this here and now. To kind of call myself out - if that makes sense. Because when it’s in writing, it’s undeniable.
I have a problem. It’s a pretty common one for females my age, I would say, but the intensity at which my problem seems to affect me is perhaps somewhat unusual. I have a problem with the way I look. Not in a, “oh my god, look at me, I’m so fat and ugly, somebody please give me attention” sort of way. But in a way that I guess is a bit more scary. I silently hate my body. Like… actually hate it. I think I could probably name a maximum of 2 or 3 things I sort of sometimes like about my outer self. And it’s really only getting worse.
I actually began to deal with this sort of stuff about a year ago. And while it took a hell of a lot of work and determination, I felt like I had a handle on it. Like I was keeping the crazy at bay and it wasn’t sort of affecting my day to day life. Now, however, I feel like I’ve been struck back to square one. Where all I think about is the way I look. It’s probably not as bad as it used to be, about a year and a half/two years ago. But it still isn’t good. I guess the good thing is that I’ve worked out that this problem is a problem within me. And by that I mean, it seems that what I see when I look in the mirror, and what others see when they look at me are somewhat… different.
Exhibit A - the boyfriend. Now, if I actually looked like what I think I do, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to attract any kind of male. Unless he were blind. And had no hands. Or ears to listen to people describe me… But I do in fact have a boyfriend. A very lovely boyfriend. Who’s caring and sweet and handsome and patient. He’s a boyfriend that a lot of girls dream about - that I dreamt about - and I’m extremely ecstatic to call him mine. And yet, I seem to feel like I’m letting him down. Like I’m not trying hard enough or that I’m not pretty or sweet or caring enough to be with him. I feel like I’m fat. Far too fat to be dating anyone, let alone someone like him. And I don’t mean that to sound as though I’m surrendering some sort of power over to him, because I’m not. I genuinely believe he has no idea I feel this way. But, alas, I do.
I suppose I want to be that girlfriend I think he deserves. That makes all his friend’s heads turn. And makes them all ridiculously jealous. I suppose I want that for myself. I want to be admired and looked at. Something that right now, I genuinely fear. I guess I’m tired of wanting to change and not feeling good enough. I’m tired of wanting so much change that I put myself through crash diets and fitness regimes. I place ridiculous targets for myself, like losing 10 kilos in the matter of months, just to fit this ideal that I’m not sure I’ll ever reach. I’m tired of not being one of those girls who’s “happy at any size”. If there really is such a thing. But most of all I’m tired of believing that 10 kilos lighter means 50 times happier. Because it doesn’t. It’s like I’m chasing this dream, this ideal, that’s hollow and empty. I’m an intelligent person, I know all of this, and yet here I am - at 10:40pm - unable to sleep and insecure about life. I’d just like this to end, I guess. I’d like to give myself a break and not feel guilty about it. But I’m really not sure that I’ll ever get there.
For now there’s only one thing - sleep.