hey y’all. I haven’t been posting, but lurking nonetheless.
ive been trying really hard to focus on work, school, and my loved ones. As I write this I’m visiting my grandparents, who I love with my entire heart, and my bratty cousins, who I love just as much.
i fell asleep crying on their couch last night because I felt so guilty about my secret, the fact that I can barely handle getting up everyday anymore. they all know I have a past with self injury and my grandma is constantly thinking my really deep scars on my legs are new cuts almost every time she sees them. she doesn’t get sad though, she gets angry and smacks my leg and screams “what the fuck is that?!”
it just makes me feel so stupid. and now, the past few days, my dilemma has been looking in the fucking mirror. I can’t take it anymore. I hate everything about my appearance. I’ve been trying really hard to eat healthier and work out for even just thirty minutes everyday, but I feel fatter and more disgusting than ever today.
i am now hiding in the guest room, taking my sweet time getting dressed, because every 10 seconds I start crying about how disgusting I am. and I think to myself,
”you don’t have to be here. it’s so easy.”
I am scaring myself more and more everyday.
4 comments
You know what?
You can keep crying for as along as you like and you are not getting any better.
However, you mentioned a 30 minute walk, why?
I was 230 pounds, I am 185 now.
It wasn’t easy.
First time I started I jogged for 50 yards. Now I can run for an hour.
You know how much time it took? 3 years.
It’s ok. Just start and don’t miss.
I have realised if I just skipped more than 2 days, I would get lazy.
So, Good luck!
And about your scars. If it’s cold, just wear something so that they aren’t visible while you are at your grandparents.
oh wow really? I never would have thought of that. your comments were neither helpful or encouraging. rather rude in my opinion.
I saw a doctor the other day for the first time. He asked me about a large keloid scar on my lower leg. And I didn’t lie. I told him that it was self inflicted. I’m not proud. I’m old to be doing that. I cut last June. I measured the surgical scars on my body. At least 42 inches. Other scars? I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s already done. My scars tell my story. Better than I can put all the feelings into words.