flowersfromthevoid-blog

[flowersfromthevoid-blog]

Typing away my problems 

I am in a lot of emotional pain. I have been suicidal all day long. I haven’t been suicidal in awhile but things have not been looking good for me. I feel trapped in a bubble. Stuck like a hamster going round and round in the wheel of poverty and misfortune. The more stress I get, the uglier I get. I look in the mirror upset with how I look because not only was I born ugly, but all the ugliness from within spews out with a crooked fat nose, monkey lips, and small beady eyes that know no happiness. The lines within my face are proof of the troubles my mind has faced, like battle scars. I don’t want to see people in fear they will look me in the eye and see what a cowardice person I am. Often when in conversation with people, I find it close to impossible to be friendly with them. I talk in a fairly forced happy tone to try to trick them into thinking maybe I am a decent person and to please not look at me with such disgust. “Please”, my mind speaks, “look away because I know who think I am ugly”. My mindset being so contradictive of the persona I try to present ends up in intense social anxiety in which I stutter and spit my words out as if I want to blurt out the pain I feel. As you can imagine, I am not comfortable in social situations. The more depressed I feel, the less I want to bother to communicate…yet I work in a customer service job. You can only imagine how things wind up at work. 

Reading that paragraph, you probably thought something on the lines of “Wow ____, you’re not ugly. What’s wrong with you?”. The thing is…I have found myself ugly my entire life. I have never had my own self worth. I guess I should be the poster child of what happens when a child has no self esteem and gets bullied a lot. It may be insane to think about, but there was never a time in my life that I looked in the mirror and was okay with what I saw. Sometimes I wish I could reach out the little me and take her to therapy. I know her pain better than anyone ever could. It was more than what I could properly put in words, but I will try to describe her to the best of my abilities. 

Young little me was confused and scare constantly. The only reason why she didn’t want to die was hope that someday she would be beautiful and successful. She often had daydreams about having a perfect life in which no one would call her ugly and she didn’t feel ashamed of who she was. Around 6-10 years old, she started thinking maybe she was supposed to be born a boy. She started dressing androgynous. Through this time period, she often dreamed of marrying girls because that’s what boys do. Gay was wrong, according to the bible. When little me went to school, she purposely isolated herself. She was afraid to speak because she did not want anyone looking at her teeth. She felt as though her teeth made her look like a monkey, and no one thinks monkeys are pretty. People reinforced this opinion she had of herself by her constantly being told her was ugly, specifically because she had big lips and ugly teeth. She did not laugh much in public, and made sure to cover her mouth whenever she spoke. You wouldn’t have seen her smile often in pictures, and any photos that do remain are just painful to look for me. Little me hated her mother for bringing her into this world ugly and with crippling social anxiety. She often criticized her mother’s every move and wish she was born into a different household, one that was quiet and simplistic with a father who cared for her. 

I talk as if that was a different person, but that little demon of a child is still within me like some sort of parasite sapping all my happiness. I feel her pain and I question why no one ever helped her. Why did she not get proper counseling? She was obvious a disturbed child with a lack of self worth. I try everyday to do good for myself but I feel like a dark sludge is within me weighing me down. 

As a teenager, she went through intense realizations which left her a hollow shell of her former self. With a lack of identity and overwhelming insecurity, she became a light feather upon the ocean waves held up only by the surface tension but never the less engulfed by each passing wave. This is when suicide became an all time high and God was thrown out of the picture. “A kind, God who loves me would not have let me go through this”, “God won’t talk to me even though I am on the verge of death”, “Somehow God wants me to die” are some things that crossed into her mind. Often I am told by people that God had saved them from their depression, but if so-called God is a legitimate being, then he or she has completely cut me off from communication. Sometimes, when I am in a really big emotional ditch, I believe that God wants me to kill myself. But no, I do not believe in God and never will unless God itself comes to me and talks one-on-one. Which will never happen. 

You might think I am playing victim. You might be disturbed by what I have written. You might think I am exaggerating, but listen here. I go through mental olympics everyday trying to live a normal fulfilling life… there is nothing I won’t do to ease the pain. Including suicide. Although I am stupid and ugly, I am self aware. And maybe that is why I have these problems to begin with… I cannot shrug them off as just the past. I feel them in everything I do and it may be my demise. Me writing all this down is a bad sign, but for now I have no choice but to carry on.