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In 2022, I began the year at about 198 pounds. As of January 1, 2023, I was 154.4 pounds. I did lose those 40 pounds in 100 days, as I joined a 100 day challenge with my mother and her friends. My mother convinced me by telling me it would not encourage ED behavior, yet I won $1200 by refusing to eat. as of yesterday, I got below 150 pounds, and I looked back on my last year, and noticed my facial shape change. None of my rings fit me anymore. I am currently wearing a shirt that used to be tight on me, but is now a pajama shirt due to how large is on me. I wonder why I am at about 150 pounds, yet I feel smaller than I was at 120 pounds. I remember being young and getting addicted to losing weight, as we all did, and thinking that 127 was too large. What I don’t remember, is what I actually looked like. I have no photos of my body or anything other than my collar bones or hands, or just a simple selfie of my face at that age, and I wonder if I looked emaciated. I don’t want to have looked emaciated, but I wonder if one day I will look back on this time in my life and think I was the same as always. I was never officially diagnosed with body dysmorphia, but I don’t believe I have to be in order to understand that I have no idea what I look like. It is the one thing I will allow myself to be self diagnosed with, because I genuinely don’t know the difference between what I looked like at 120 pounds vs. 198 pounds. All I know is that I’ve begun to get that familiar rush of endorphins when I forget to eat. I’ve had multiple father figures in my ��life tell me that they’ve noticed how small I’m getting, and I think often about what my best friend looks like. I worry about her, and I think about what it felt like to hug her last, and how I was worried that I would hug her so tightly that she would disappear. How is it not OK for her, but it’s encouraged in my own mind for myself? I do not want to become the monster I was when I was counting calories and counting food and counting steps. however, there’s something so addictive about trying to one-up yourself continuously. It’s making the same drive every day and trying to beat your time by one minute. Maybe today I will get there at 12:42 as opposed to 12:45. Going 75 down a 60 mph road is fine, as long as I win. I just have to win.

I wish I could formulate these into scenes and create art with what I am speaking right now. Instead, I am just getting drunk off of three beers because I haven’t eaten anything except for a coffee, a piece of a cookie, and a couple of potato chips. See what I mean? Even when I am not doing it on purpose, I count exactly every single thing that I eat. Will I ever get better? I don’t want to worry about what I’m putting into my body every single second of every single day, if I’m going to die anyway. all I think about is my mortality and my age, and the fact that every person I love will die, and a lot sooner than I think it will happen. Yet, somehow, I focus on my physical form, and use a vape because I need something in my mouth. I perpetuate the idea that vaping is OK, while the ringing in my ears daily is really the bad thing that probably will kill me. how can someone be a hypochondriac while also doing what feels good in the moment? It’s as if I hear young me telling me that nothing matters, and that I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well do the things I enjoy while I can, but also having adult me understand that I am doing a job that drains me, because I’ve never been offered something better. And what if I get nothing better? What if my art isn’t good, and I am just like every single other white girl, very basic and talking about my daddy issues that don’t matter. What if I quit the best job I’ll ever have, because I want something more, and I never get that more? What if everyone I love is better than me. I don’t want to compete, and I’m not competing, but I want to at least be in the race. I want to be involved with everyone I love, and I want to also be an artist, and I want to also feel the things that they feel. I feel like I am a robot, waking up too late, rushing through a shower, going to work, coming home, late, and then going to bed. What do I do to make myself feel anything? Cry on the way to pick up a child, so that they can see their fucked up parents? Is that who I am? Is that all that I am, just a chauffeur for a child to get traumatized?

I wish I could control other people, and not in a God sense, but in a savior sense. I’m not naïve enough to think that I could save the world, but if I could save this one woman from getting murdered this one long weekend, maybe it would be worth it. She’s a wonderful mother, and I genuinely believe that she could have her child back very soon, if the father was not in the picture. Is that my own trauma coming through? Possibly, but I genuinely believe that my life would have been better with no father figures in it at all. I still would have had daddy issues, but they would be ABANDONMENT daddy issues. I am lucky enough to get all different types of fatherless trauma: one from a dad who abused/neglected me, and then later abandoned me; one from a father who lingered my whole life and refuses to let me go, as I am pretty much, the whole reason he’s alive. He refuses to listen to me speak, and only wants to speak of his suicide attempt (which was definitely reaching for attention), even though I have made it clear that a was pretty traumatized by that experience. He continues to ask me for money, and tell me that my mother is a bitch for not accepting his mental illness (the same exact illness that I have) as a disability. How is it OK for me to work two jobs in order to pay for his TV and booze habit, but he is unable to work because “being bipolar is hard”. Every day I wake up with my brain deciding for me, how well my day is going to go. it always has to go well enough that my father will get what he wants out of me. Sometimes I think that he stayed with my mother for so long and he is unaware of how to find another young woman to pay his bills, so he went to me as the next youngest woman he knew. He knows I am my mothers child, and that I will pay the bills and get the job done, and he knows that I will overwork myself to death. Because of this, he knows that he can come to me for money, and he uses the words and terminology that he knows will get him what he wants.

All I am is a servant for everyone I care about. I was created in my mothers womb as an excuse for her to leave my father, and every day since then has been about what I can give other people. if I ever have the audacity to bring up my own thoughts and emotions, I am called selfish and rude and needy.

No one has ever loved me as much as I love them. 

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i want a sweet girlfriend who tryna give me a bday gift

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i feel like i’m wasting my life. i’m almost 24 and i haven’t gone to college and i don’t know who i want to be and who i am. everyone in the stupid town i live in sucks an annoys me to no end and i hate being myself and here and around these vapid boring white people. i’m living my life for my mother and my brother and my father and my best friend and i don’t do anything for myself because i’m forever exhausted from doing everything for everyone else. i just want to be far away from everyone i know except for the fact that i have this crushing feeling that if i left today everyone i know would die or get hurt or sick or something. i worry that i will never find what makes me happy and never be able to be enough for someone to love me. i just want to be creative and impulsive and crazy again. i fear that i’m going to need to be institutionalized soon but i can’t even do that for myself because i have too much and too many people depending on me.

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i don’t know why it’s impossible for me to be wanted and taken care of. i’m everyone’s caretaker, including my mother, and i can’t escape for fear of everyone i love dying

i feel like i’m suffocating under the weight of my age and sex

why am i not worth emotional comfort and love? why must i be a husk of a person yet no one notices? why does it feel like i’m screaming but my cries fall on my own deaf ears?

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and i’ll be honest i feel like i’m faking this for attention

sometimes i feel like i’m not the right type of person

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sometimes i feel like i’m not the right type of person

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i joined this stupid group through my new job, it’s just a bunch of middle aged women trying to lose weight. I’m 23, but i feel so fucking awful about myself, and the very worst part of me thought this would spark something in me to get back into my old habits. however, they told me when i joined that i wouldn’t have to like send pictures to all these people (it’s like 21 other people, including my mother) and now it’s the first day and she’s making us send pictures of the scale. i had already weighed myself, and written it down (in my old weight loss notebook i used in highschool; don’t need to get a new one when that’s what i stole it for in the first place), and had coffee, and so i sent what it was in the chat to the WHOLE GROUP, and she told me to do it again tomorrow. i also have three jobs now, and the last day off i’ve had was March 13. that’s fine, i mentally can’t chill, and if i stop for one minute i start thinking about mortality and how much i miss my friends and how bad i want to move to someplace that no one knows me and actually start going to college, and so i have to work 7 days a week just to stop all of this. i guess i’m just not doing well.

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