I don’t want to be told that i’m going to be ok… I want you to wrap your arms around me and let me cry.
Don’t give me reasons why I should be happy to be alive… give me your time and your heart.
Don’t tell me that I’m being silly, that I’m beautiful… hold me and whisper it in my ear.
Don’t hurt me more than I hurt myself… kiss away my pain.
**the following is an excerpt from a novel I’m writing… to keep up with it, follow my main blog, there’s a page dedicated to it**
The water rushed over her skin, burning as it landed. There was so much pain inside she didn’t know what to do with. Sitting on the floor of the shower she picked up her razor to shave. But it didn’t stay there long. Slowly she ran the blade across her skin, not too hard at first, but growing more frantic. Four cuts… small, little things that barely bleed, but cuts none the less. She let the hot water burn the cuts, letting the pain grow. Tears were falling now. Sobs racking her body as she starts to picture everything bad in her life. She can’t stop the videos from playing moment after moment of pure embarrassment. She violently wipes away her tears. There’s no room for weakness. Standing to finish the shower, she tells herself that she needs to change. Slowly drying off her body, she runs her hands across her skin, finding fault in ever nook and cranny. Too many rolls, way too fat, not enough muscle… so on and so forth. No amount of dieting or exercising could change the way she felt about herself. Her stomach rumbles from the crap that she ate that day, bringing her to the toilet to purge. Never has using the toilet felt so good and so bad at the same time. She tries to make her way to her bedroom without crying but that short walk was too much for her. Tears make there way down her cheek, only to be wiped away by her manicured hands.
"Enough is enough", she tells herself.
Pulling on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, she feels the comforting sting of the cuts on her leg. She sits on her bed imagining what life would be like if she was smaller, prettier, and more outgoing. It was beautiful, with a cute boy talking to her, holding her, loving her… damn it, the tears started falling again. Imagining being in her house, with her husband playing with their child in the back yard, imagining being cuddled in front of a fire, dancing with the man who held her heart… it was depressing! She didn’t know what to do but cry. As the tears fell she felt the emptiness come crashing down upon her. She felt the walls close around her and the darkness crept in. The tears weren’t enough. The cuts weren’t enough. Pushing herself off the bed she walked down to the kitchen and ate dinner. With every bite she hated herself. With every swallow she wished she could just stop eating. She knew that the pretending would catch up to her. She couldn’t pretend any longer. She was hurting, alone, angry, frustrated… she was dying. How could wanting someone to love her break her so badly? How could desiring someone she never met hurt so much? She knew that she was meant for more than what she had, but she couldn’t push herself to get it. The food settled into her stomach and she just wanted to throw it up. She laughed and talked with her parents, but it wasn’t enough. She escaped up to her room to pretend she wasn’t alone. Grasping at the pillows and blankets, wrapping them around her, she cuddled into the warmth and cried. She was never going to know the feeling of arms wrapped around her, lips kissing her head, the sound of a steady heartbeat underneath her head. She was never going to know what being in love felt like. Being 26 and single was difficult. Why?? She turned on her computer and logged into the social media sites. She saw people living lives that she would never had. She saw people loving people she would never see. She saw the pain and anger swirling around her and she wanted a release. She got onto her site, the site that made her feel like she was beautiful. She allowed old men to call her sexy and ask for nudes and she quietly obliged. Taking pictures she hated, pictures of her scared body, her fat rolls, her disgusting-ness just highlighted the pain she felt. She couldn’t feel full, she couldn’t rid herself of this emptiness. She got angry at the worthless-ness she felt. She logged off, deleted her site, deleted her pictures.
"Enough was enough", she said.
Why had porn become her escape? it was fleeting, stupid, unrealistic. Boys would never look at her as anything but a sex object. Could it be possible that there was someone out there who would see her for the amazing girl she was? Or was she really not as amazing as she was making herself believe? The weight didn’t lift, it didn’t move, it stayed. This idea that she was never going to be good enough. No amount of makeup would make her pretty, no amount of dieting would make her skinny, no amount of change would make her anything more than she already was. This was all she was going to become. She wasn’t going to get better. She was just going to continue to be disgusting and annoying. She wasn’t going to see her dreams come to life. She was stuck… even more worrisome was that she was becoming content being stuck.
**To Be Continued**