My Story Not Yet Complete

I am 14 years old. I have become friends with the monster. He tells me my body is a bit pudgy in certain areas. He tells me that they will pay attention to me if they can see me losing weight and counting calories. He is telling me all the things wrong with me that drove away my friends. This monster is ever present in my mind as the scale looms. He is holding my hand on the way to class. He is whispering lies in my ear as I speak with peers. He is telling me over and over again that I am unworthy of love. He likes to isolate me, you see. Hey, hey, but it’s okay. He is a jealous friend. He desires me all for himself. One on one relationships are better for us anyway right?

When I am 15 1/2 I think that the monster has been put to rest. I am going on dates and kissing boys. Yet I remember a not so far away time of kisses shared with the same sex and I am confused. My faithful friend comes back and tells me to fake it with boys. The result is a kiss in a tree with a friend/enemy watching from the ground, cheering on my humiliation; the result is an emptiness and a lack of knowledge of what love truly is and can be.

I am 17 and the dancing queen-except I am the unwanted burden of a daughter; the trophy daughter that did not recieve the trophy. I am kicked out and pulled back in. I am at last the one thing that no one wanted. The monster comes back to tell me it is all my fault. The monster is back to whisper that I am unloveable, I am a dark cloud, I am a failure, I am a stray dog that they took in for charity yet realized they don’t like dogs much later. I am the extra fat that they could use to trim off.

I am 18 and alone in a new city with no one who knows my name. It’s me against the world. I have no friends for I am in a place where the familiar is no longer a thing on my radar; I have become a constant adventurer. I have a hard time trusting that the phrases that people say are just words; I have a hard time believing that people do not have a hidden agenda. I am consistently asking God why no one loves me. I am hearing the whispers of the monster that I am better off alone. I am feeling the spiraling not-so-soft pull of feelings of inadequacy and dreams of failures at events that have yet to occur. I am a displaced individual adrift the comments and feelings that others may or may not mean with malice.

I am 19 years and 1 week old. I am the warrior princess. I am Leslie Knope. I am Rapunzal. I am Sleeping Beauty. I am my own Prince. The monster is now a dragon that has grown so huge I cannot take it on by myself anymore. I am 19 years and 1 week old. I am learning that asking for help is a good sign. I am 19 years and 1 week old. I am a student of healing now. I am growing from who I once was. My old friend has finally been slayed.

“The enemy is dead-and we have killed him.”

Cheers to a lifetime of depression. Cheers to a life left to live in freedom.

I am the burning bush. I may be rough around the edges and scratch and burn if you come too close to the core. But inside of me God is speaking. Don’t be afraid. Don’t run away. Don’t give up on me just yet.

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Word Vomit: Perfectionism

I am ill with the need to be perfect.

The 2 AM calls to action just leads me to self loathing and more procrastination.

I am always thinking about how I can be better instead of just embracing the fact that I am 18 and that is such an exciting time to figure out what I want, what I love, and how I want to enjoy life.

The ease with which I slip into perfection contradicts every single one of my ideals.

I desperately want to be a good writer. I was reading an article today about how the “good” writers don’t give up and work their butt off to be good writers. This terrifies me. I am the typical writer who writes when inspiration strikes rather than when the work bell rings.

Instead of this leading me to despair, I have decided that I want this. I want it and I need it, and I am going to have to get working in order to get it.

When I was growing up, the emphasis and definition of suscess often revolved around college and career and 8-5. I always felt as if I had to perform or entertain or have the best story to hold their attention and ultimately have their love. It was not until recently that I have realized that most of my failures and issues are a result of this performance driven attitude toward life. I want to be perfect and have the perfect body type, therefore I starved myself. I wanted their attention and craved their comments; I was starving for affection and apples.

I wanted to be admired for my intellect, wisdom, and unique nature. Even though I was I didn’t consider it enough. I spiral into depression every time I am called into question. The absolute need is unhealthy at best and crippling at worst. The mental disorders I am going through often embarress me and I hide them. The worst is when I hide them from myself.

Self deception. I have it all figured out. I am eighteen and living on my own and have gotten over these disorders and have overcome my insecurities. The most dangerous lies of all are these. I have not gotten over them but rather suppressed them. It is at the heart of these issues that I find my biggest sin: pride.

The snake that envelops my heart as fallen away, yet it is within my heart that the Father is revealing the deepest sins.

Eating Game

I began playing this tiring game, 

Where I shifted and avoided all the blame, 

“it was her, it was him, 

It was she, why are she no longer my friend?” 

When really I was being vain, 

Because eating is not simply a game. 

Eating is life, something we deep down need, 

What happens when thin begins to grow with greed? 

Anorexic.. The chill of the word haunts your bones, 

which is all you are left with, instead of being toned. 

When does this stop? When can this end? 

I put on a mask that it was all okay, I played pretend, 

all the while wanting a friend 

To see, to capture what had been happening to me.