I have to forgive myself for being depressed.
It’s something I beat myself up over. I’m forever told I’m strong and so I wonder why I’m not strong enough to make this go away. It’s not going away; I don’t have that kind of power.
So, it’s OKAY to sleep away my kid-free weekends. It’s OKAY to not be the most patient parent. It’s OKAY to just be me.
I love that I go my own way. If there’s two options – A and B – you can damn well bet I’ve gone the other way to find the door marked C.
Sure, I might question my decisions. Taking a different path from the usual leads to a lot of questions. But in the end…I can’t imagine a life where I went along with the majority.
I’m jumping on the bandwagon because I need to write something. I’ve been ignoring this space because I don’t have anything to say that is worth sharing. I’m still broke. I’m still worried and anxious and depressed. I’m still in survival mode. I’m still…me. I keep on trying to think of this state of affairs as temporary, but that’s becoming another battle.
Day 1: Something I hate about myself
Despite being 31 and having undergone two rounds of Accutane as a teenager, I still have very bad acne. I also weigh 197.50 lbs. (Thanks to my new doctor who weighed me, then took my blood pressure. Thankfully, my blood pressure is “perfect”.)
I’m fat and pimply. I have scars from acne, stretch marks from pregnancy, big boobs and a curved back/shitty posture from developing boobs at a really early age.
I hate the way I look.
I can’t imagine that any man would give me a second look. And when I’m complimented by men, I assume it’s because they think it’s what I want to hear, what will get me into bed.
I can live with the depression. But I hate the 70 extra lbs I’m carrying. I hate the shitty self-esteem. I hate the hate I have for the way I look, the way I am.