the first time i eat lunch in front of other people

trigger warning: insecurity, body image issues, fear of abandonment

does my body disgust you? does the humanness of needing to eat three meals a day disgust you? do you notice, how awkward i am when i talk and i laugh and i dodge out of arguments and can all of this just stop now it’s too much to breath through? and does it make your skin crawl? does it make you want to leave me because i am scared you want to leave me. i am scared i am not enough for me. am i just. not. good enough for you. now that i’m human am i. just. too. much for you. now that i’m not perfect. now that i am the vegan. i am the one who’s different. i know i am weird. please. don’t think i’m an idiot. the scribbled edges of my skin blur and it’s hard to breathe again. i’m a messy drawing. i’m six years old again. ii’m a mess of screams stuffed back into the cardboard box. is it all right if i start bleeding? is it all right if my hands are shaking? is it all right, that the compulsions are curled up in my chest they are monsters, about to creep in? i’m sorry, i too wish i didn’t have a body. i am a crumpled piece of paper, and all i’m trying to do is smooth myself out in front of you, except my brain is screaming, and you feel like wilting flowers in my fingers, and it takes me a moment to realize that you aren’t going to leave me because it feels like you’re going to leave me because it feels like everything is going to leave me because my stomach is so empty, and i don’t want you to see that when i get home i gorge on everything like the void cares about being fed. i am clinging onto you like lifelines, and i hate that. i am not a robot, but i want to be, because i can’t do this tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day. i am not a robot, and the pressure of this is so heavy, and it feels like it’s about to shatter me, and it could just be that i’m tired and i’m thirsty but i think i need to run away and i can’t think clearly. and i can’t stop typing, because if you’re reading this please take it from me: do not starve yourself of what you want more than anything in an attempt to stop needing, because you do realize that every time i left myself in the dark of my mind, it only made me more empty, and pain is not something anyone can ever stop feeling, and i feel like someone went into my mind and kind of ruined everything, and then i realize someone is me, and then i realize the monster is me. my compulsions are strangling me. i think maybe i can’t do this because i want to hide from the burning pressure of your eyes. i am standing at the edge of this cliff and it feels like every small autumn breeze is trying to bury me. i’m still learning how to be a person. i’m still learning how to be a friend but it’s difficult because i think you have to leave yourself to do that. and i’m still learning how to escape the desperation and the loneliness, and every single internal storming ocean. and i’m trying, and i’m making progress. i just. need. a moment. but i still hope that’s all right. is that all right? do you still want me?


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*****

trigger warning: mentions of self-harm, suicide mention, anxiety, obviously self-hatred, and some heavier-than-usual swearing

also, a note: where i have asterisks, it’s to censor out my name, because. you know. i have a blogger mystique to maintain. you can know it’s five letters, though. 😉


a poem by my self-hatred

 

*****, why the fuck can’t you can’t you just follow. the goddamn. assignment, stop asking your teachers questions, they don’t want to hear it. shut up, no one wants to hear your mind screaming out loud. why the hell do you think it is the way it is? //  no one wants to be your friend. you’re an idiot. you’re socially awkward. you’re way. too. different. and you don’t get it, and for god’s sake, just stop talking right away, you are entitled and vain and manipulative, and everyone else knows it, and if they do not know it, they will know it soon, because you will be horrible to them, just like you have been horrible to all of those people before them, your heart a black hole every relationship you attempt to forge will fall into. // and why the do you dress like this? why are your sweaters all baggy? and like what’s the problem with nice jeans? why do you always have to be awkward? why do you always have to be dirty? and oh god,  why can’t you just hold a fork right, you’ve been eating since you were a baby, get a life and get a grip and you should be able to eat lunch in front of other people by now, shut up already. // *****. i hate your name, by the way, *****. it sounds like a shrunken head. looks like pieces of fabric pulled together. *****, smells like rotting roses. *****. why do you exist? i understand you have asked your mother this. ask her again. ask her again. slam yourself against the brick walls inside you until your whole body shatters before you, and then again. try again. try again. try again. because all i know is that you are different, and i don’t like you being different, and could you just sacrifice your mental health a little more than you already did, because other people don’t care about their feelings and other people do it. // and why the can’t you look at memes and play video games and know about tv and youtube and tumblr and like youtube and tumblr and use grammatically correct sentences when you write poetry. why can’t you be normal. why can’t you be simple. why can’t get more exercise. why can’t you be easy why. why are you like this? // *****, why do you insist on liking your teachers, you should not be like this. // *****. why can’t you be professional? you’re such a bitch. you’re always breaking the rules like this, just follow them, or you will never get a job as a writer, and that will make you suicidal, and the suicidal will make you depressed, and the depressed will become the lake you drown in, and you will drown, and no one will ever listen to you, because your thoughts may not be worthless, but they are not worth enough, and if you want to make your way out there you have to earn millions. // *****, can’t you just work hard for once? can’t you just suck it up and be a normal person for once? do you not see why i want to punch you so much? like of all the places to take out your anxiety did you have to pick your forehead, your insecurities blasted into you so everyone can see it? did you have to chameleon so easily to what the people around you said? did you have to be such a goddamn idiot? why can’t you get it through your head: they don’t really want to be your friends. i don’t really want to be your friends an they will never want to be your friends until you can be a little more boring, and don’t you know you’d look prettier if you just sucked the colour out of your cheeks? // don’t you know you’d look prettier if you just smiled more often. if you just said yes. if you just acted exactly like they did, because having opinions is a terrifying business. so maybe they’d wrap you up in false love which you are already beyond and above if you broke the bones of your opinions until they crumbled to dust. until you could be normal, normal like she was. normal like he was. you will not be a human being until you are normal. you will not be a human being until… you… just…


this poem was inspired by maia mayor’s “perfect.” (trigger warning: mention of drug use, and also the whole poem is about having an emotionally abusive parent.) it’s heavy, but at least for me, it was good. if you’re interested, you can watch it here. also, the concept of recording your self-talk was inspired by this short film about anxiety. (which i am right now kind of in love with.)


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