ScarvesĀ 

The beach is, and always has been, my happy place.
I am so reluctant to ever refer to what I suffer with as depression. And I think it’s because I hate that I suffer from it. I hate that I talk about it and I hate that it’s even a thing that exists and I hate that it’s a part of me. 

It’s mysterious, it weaves itself in quickly through my thoughts, turning a moderate day, into a slightly less bearable one, to one i can’t wait to get to the end of, to one I can’t live in anymore, and I can feel myself kicking and screaming inside my skin. 

Most days I can act normal. I can act like it’s not happening and this battle isn’t being fought in my soul. But days like today, I’m sure you can see it in my glazed eyes and the way my mouth stays still and mute, in fear everything will fall out and crumble.

It casts a thin veil on all I do, like little black scarves, partly concealing pieces of my mind one by one, until everything I have in me is darkened and there’s no way out. 

This morning I was okay, it felt like any neutral day would feel. But a trigger happens and I feel guilt, and another happens and I feel anger, and another happens and I feel stress and suddenly I feel the shift and I’m gone. And I can’t see anything positive. Everything is covered by a scarf and there’s no way out to bring me back, and the panic hits. 

Today, I am close to breaking. But not in the usual way. Normally there are tears and panic. But today, there is nothing. I felt the guilt, anger, and stress and I felt it leave me as swiftly as it arrived. I can’t see the whole picture anymore, and I am filled with blanks that I can’t complete. I know that I should feel okay and that I should just be able to push through, but I’ve lost the ability to know how, and the strength to find it again. And I’m scared, the parts of me I know hide away. 

Going to the sea tonight helped, its given me a few blanks back. But I am no way as complete as I was yesterday, and the day before. And it will take time to get to that point again, but I hope it won’t be too long. 

You’re lying to me

I’m sure my lips form this sentence at least every other day, and on the other days my mind whispers it frequently.

I have been complaining over the size of my legs for years. They obviously know it bothers me so give me an easy answer.

They know I couldn’t solve it quickly if I wanted to, so why tell me the truth.

They think it would hurt my feelings too much to say.

They can’t be bothered with the backlash afterwards if they were honest.

 

And it’s not even justĀ people that lie.

 

It’s just a good angle of photo.

It’s good lighting.

You’re having a good day because you’ve eaten well and been to the gym.

It’s just the outfit, it’s not normal life.

 

For the first time in such a long time, yesterday I caught myself in the mirror at the gym. I looked in proportion. I looked like everyone else. I was a normal shape. I looked strong, I looked sexy. Maybe I can see what the others see. Maybe this is actually me.

 

But bad feelings are so much stronger than good, and before long, I’m convinced I imagined it. I don’t even know where the truth is anymore.

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