18 Apr 2017 - Self-Imaging
Evening.
Day 54 on Lexapro. Tiredness weakens my bones and weeps from my pores, like a disease that can be caught by those careless enough to not staunchly guard themselves.
Mood:Swiftly descending 5. Three. 2.5. I don't know. I just know that I feel like garbage. As usual.
I don't know what to say about how today went. Initially, things were well enough - I took a test that I feel pretty okay about, got a lot of work done for a group project that I'm part of. This evening, though, the ever-present feeling of being a complete academic failure crept back into the forefront of my existence, and with numbers to back itself up. I feel like I'm just a sub-par student with hopes and dreams that far exceed my abilities. Graduate school is seeming like a more and more distant dream with each failed assignment, with each concept that I am unable to understand to any standard. I no longer know why I keep trying when the results come back the same each and every time - inescapable mediocrity, especially beside the cruel, mocking bastions of achievement that comprise my core "friend" group. I want to just lay down, accept my failures, and fade into the obscurity that has been whispering my name since the day I dared desire to do something big.
The feeling killed my laugh and withered my smile. Let's see how far I descend.
On top of the hell that is my mind-scape, I've been having body issues as of late. I've never had the best self-image - that's generally the result of growing up a fat girl in America - but it's intensified into an almost hatred over the past month or so. The only part of my flesh prison that I don't abhor are my eyes, as they are literally the only parts of me that I've never had any distaste for. Even from a young age, I've always felt that my oculi are pretty, irises warmly brown with black flecks, sclera delicately lined with thin, crimson vessels.
Everything else, though, has been a lazy Susan of distaste. From my fat thighs to my round belly to my plump cheeks to my cellulite-dimpled rear to my fivehead to my jiggly calves to my crooked teeth to my kinky hair to my hyperadipose back to my oily nose to my large but droopy breasts...I'm not happy in my own skin, and that unhappiness is edging its way into other areas of my life, beyond the old discomfort with/distaste for photographs of myself and unwillingness to look at my reflection for any reason. Other people (read: Soul Sister and Favorite Person) have said that I'm not the collection of physical flaws that I view myself as, that I'm even cute, but I can't see it. I've never seen it, and I don't think that I ever will.
I don't know what it would take for me to be happy with my meatsuit. Being thinner was something I desired when I was much younger, but it's not something I even care about now - I know full well that I'd be as unhappy at a size 8 as I am now at a size 16, or 18, or 20, or whatever the heck I am.
On the topic of self-image, I've never really pictured myself as being...human. A person. Real. Just an amorphous, shifting mass of greys and blacks, with no set form or face. A mass that floats through life, seeking something to latch onto, something to anchor itself on, but finding nothing.
I've been feeling increasingly distant from Favorite Person, largely due to the weight of the guilt generated by the knowledge of how her care for me has been a source of strain. I no longer feel okay or right reaching out to her to talk about how I am, no matter how low I may be, no matter how much I want to be asked about my present state, because the thought of being a further burden on her to any degree makes me feel sick. So, it'll be back to my old way of coping with things, internalizing and suppressing and bottling up until things out of sight.
I wish I never existed, so that the people I love never have to shoulder any of my pain.
Exam #2 of this week is tomorrow, and I have very low hopes for it. I'm likely going to have to retake this class, because I just can't do well.
Until then.
One thing that is clear
It's all downhill
From here
18 Apr 2017
Day 54 on Lexapro. Tiredness weakens my bones and weeps from my pores, like a disease that can be caught by those careless enough to not staunchly guard themselves.
Mood:
I don't know what to say about how today went. Initially, things were well enough - I took a test that I feel pretty okay about, got a lot of work done for a group project that I'm part of. This evening, though, the ever-present feeling of being a complete academic failure crept back into the forefront of my existence, and with numbers to back itself up. I feel like I'm just a sub-par student with hopes and dreams that far exceed my abilities. Graduate school is seeming like a more and more distant dream with each failed assignment, with each concept that I am unable to understand to any standard. I no longer know why I keep trying when the results come back the same each and every time - inescapable mediocrity, especially beside the cruel, mocking bastions of achievement that comprise my core "friend" group. I want to just lay down, accept my failures, and fade into the obscurity that has been whispering my name since the day I dared desire to do something big.
The feeling killed my laugh and withered my smile. Let's see how far I descend.
On top of the hell that is my mind-scape, I've been having body issues as of late. I've never had the best self-image - that's generally the result of growing up a fat girl in America - but it's intensified into an almost hatred over the past month or so. The only part of my flesh prison that I don't abhor are my eyes, as they are literally the only parts of me that I've never had any distaste for. Even from a young age, I've always felt that my oculi are pretty, irises warmly brown with black flecks, sclera delicately lined with thin, crimson vessels.
Everything else, though, has been a lazy Susan of distaste. From my fat thighs to my round belly to my plump cheeks to my cellulite-dimpled rear to my fivehead to my jiggly calves to my crooked teeth to my kinky hair to my hyperadipose back to my oily nose to my large but droopy breasts...I'm not happy in my own skin, and that unhappiness is edging its way into other areas of my life, beyond the old discomfort with/distaste for photographs of myself and unwillingness to look at my reflection for any reason. Other people (read: Soul Sister and Favorite Person) have said that I'm not the collection of physical flaws that I view myself as, that I'm even cute, but I can't see it. I've never seen it, and I don't think that I ever will.
I don't know what it would take for me to be happy with my meatsuit. Being thinner was something I desired when I was much younger, but it's not something I even care about now - I know full well that I'd be as unhappy at a size 8 as I am now at a size 16, or 18, or 20, or whatever the heck I am.
On the topic of self-image, I've never really pictured myself as being...human. A person. Real. Just an amorphous, shifting mass of greys and blacks, with no set form or face. A mass that floats through life, seeking something to latch onto, something to anchor itself on, but finding nothing.
I've been feeling increasingly distant from Favorite Person, largely due to the weight of the guilt generated by the knowledge of how her care for me has been a source of strain. I no longer feel okay or right reaching out to her to talk about how I am, no matter how low I may be, no matter how much I want to be asked about my present state, because the thought of being a further burden on her to any degree makes me feel sick. So, it'll be back to my old way of coping with things, internalizing and suppressing and bottling up until things out of sight.
I wish I never existed, so that the people I love never have to shoulder any of my pain.
Exam #2 of this week is tomorrow, and I have very low hopes for it. I'm likely going to have to retake this class, because I just can't do well.
Until then.
One thing that is clear
It's all downhill
From here
18 Apr 2017
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