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 just 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.