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.