“Don’t waste your time. I won’t talk to you.” Those last words that I uttered to you before I hung up on you, I’ll never forget.

I haven’t really talked about you on this blog much which is extremely odd because you truly do take up a big part of my life. It’s been three years to this day and yet I haven't had a chance to move on. What happened back this November day has completely altered my life, whether for better or worse I haven't figured out. I do know that you've haunted me these past few years, kept me in fear without even being around. I can honestly say I’m not the same person I was when I was with you. You probably wouldn’t even like me now, wouldn’t even give me a second glance. I think that’s what hurts me the most.

Part of me wishes there had been a chance for closure, some way for me to tell you what a moron you were, to find out what the hell you were thinking. But that is literally impossible.

I can’t remember what it feels like for you to hold me, to kiss me on the forehead after saying something you thought was funny, or just holding my hand. I can’t remember. For the life of me, I can’t remember what your voice was like, your laugh, your touch. I just can’t remember. I’ve woken up tired from the nightmares numerous times because I am tired. I wish I could simply just sleep but I can't. I already know why… I just don’t want to say it. But to be honest with myself it’s because I’m forgetting you. The only part of you that I can hold to is the nightmares.

Today I learned,

sƃuıɥʇ ʇɐ ʞooן noʎ ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ ǝƃuɐɥɔ oʇ ʇoƃ ǝʌ,noʎ

The Elephant in the room...

I don't know how many times I sit on my bed with my laptop in my lap just staring at the screen willing myself to write something. Yet half the time my mind draws a blank. Or I start writing a few sentences and then think to myself 'who's really going to want to read about that?' and then erase everything and continue staring at my screen. Half the time I give up twenty minutes later, mildly aggravated might I add and then end up not posting a blog for a couple of days or almost a whole week or two in one case. All the while I'm forcing myself to not acknowledge the fact that I have a bad case of writer's block. I know it's there, but I'm desperately trying to ignore it hoping by the sheer false ignorance that damn elephant will take a hike and leave me be.

If it isn't apparent yet, I have writer's block right now. Except...I'm using that to fuel this blog so I have something to write about. Though occasionally my mind wanders and I lose my train of thought and I'm left wondering what to write next. Like right now. If only there was some kind of cure for writer's block, like if it really was an elephant and I could just let loose a mouse in my room, or maybe a herd of mice (herd of mice? that can't be right...) and it would just disappear for good. Or maybe I need to find a way to come to terms with it, though that makes me sound slightly off my rocker for thinking along the lines of befriending writer's block. It isn't really an elephant, obviously. But I must admit, I might welcome it a bit more half the time if it actually was. I would never get work done, but hey, at least I'd have an elephant.

When I look in the mirror,

I see a girl who is so incredibly sad. Tragically unhappy. My friends and family think I live a perfect life because I’ve learned to smile through the pain. I have mastered the ability to appear happy even when I’m not. At 18, I’ve become a phenomenal actress – showing others only what they want to see. Or what they can handle.

I am fat. No, really. I am fat. Morbidly obese is the medical term but I prefer fat. I have a fat ass, fat upper arms, a fat belly, fat hips, fat thighs and a fat face. I have stretch marks and I have cellulite.

My Body – two little words that hold such power over my feelings of self-worth. How much longer will I continue to criticize myself for wanting food, not exercising per day and not being the media’s version of what’s right? How many more hours of pinching fat on my stomach and wishing I had the courage to induce myself to vomit? What amount of self-loathing and flagellation will be enough to convince myself that I am not disgusting and irredeemably ugly? My body has been the enemy for a good sum of my life. It is something to beat down and suppress into submission.

I am tired of only seeing a chubby, mushy, worthless girl that doesn't deserve to eat or to live. I am tired of feeling slightly sick every time I look in the mirror, terrified of what I may see. Can I tolerate the image reflected back, or will I cry and decry the need to face the world while appearing so broken? I don't want to be stuck, forced to choose between subduing my body into a weak, unnatural shape and nourishing it so I can be free to move and run.

I sometimes fleetingly daydream about what it would be like to wholly accept myself, but in truth, the word “self-acceptance” has no tangible reality for me; it is a word on a page that applies to other people, never me.

I just wished I loved myself as much as people believe I do.

Why is growing up such a difficult...task? It doesn't even feel like a journey anymore, just a monotonous loop of neverending horrible situations with the occasional happy moment lodged in between. I used to be fun. I used to have fun. I was crazy, I was never home, I was loud, I was spontaneous. Now I'm all work, chores, figuring out how to grow up and get my life on track. I'm responsible and respectable, and I'm boring myself. Seeing things for what they really are has completely ruined me. Ignorance truly is bliss and without it I'm a total pessimist. Yet I lie to myself on a daily basis because I feel like one day things will get better-- easier maybe. Why is it the only time that things are truly fantastic is when we're kids? Time went on for forever and everyday was pretty wonderful. Now I feel like 24 hours in a day is nothing at all; a minute feels way too short. I just want that carefree bliss back.

Up and Down

You know how it goes, some days are up and others are down. Yesterday I started feeling down for absolutely no reason. I'm trying to stay positive and so far have been keeping on top of things. I'm praying this melancholy will speed off quickly, letting me get back to enjoying life!

Open Letter: Dear Guys

Us girls are jealous creatures. We get jealous over the stupidest things, like how many xx’s you leave on another girl’s wall, the long pause when you see a girl hotter than us, the photo comments you leave other girls, and the way you smile and hug other girls. It’s the little things that set us off most of the time, and you hardly ever realise you’re doing it. It makes us jealous when you start talking to another girl for about five minutes before you actually introduce us, we get worried when you don’t text us back within the first half an hour, we take in everything you say and study the words all night to try and work out what you meant. We get scared of you wanting to use us, all we really want is a guy to respect us, comfort us, protect us, a guy we can cry to and tell all of our problems to. We want someone who will show his affection in public, kiss us softly when we’re upset, and who geniunely cares. We want to be loved, girls are meant to be treated like princess’s.

Sincerely,

A girl

Why does this happen?

Why is it that I can be going along nicely, doing okay, and then someone gives me one piece of criticism and I feel like I’m going to fall to pieces?

Today was one of those days. I’m sitting here on the couch and feel like I can barely go on. Tears are hiding behind my eyes and I can hardly focus on the show I’m watching.

In a matter of minutes, I went from feeling pretty good to feeling completely useless, worthless and torn apart. All because of a little bit of criticism.

I can only hope that this wave of self-loathing depression passes as quickly as it started.