Relapse

I relapsed last month. Three years of progress reversed in one night. Now relapses occur every other week. I’m not even ashamed. Sometimes I think I deserve this, to never get better. For now, I’m counting the days since I last relapsed in single digits. I’m back on 0, wondering if I’ll ever make it past this.

I can’t stand to look in the mirror.

My thighs are too thick and my arms are too fat. My stomach won’t ever be flat. I’m too short, I’m too stocky. Man I hate this body. And now I’m back at square one.

My eyes are too dull, too grey, too bleary. My hair too frizzy, it makes me so weary. I hate wearing glasses, but I hate contacts too. I just wish one day I could be perfect like you.

I just want some proportions that make sense. Tear my hair out, grit my teeth, why is this so painful. Is this what it takes to truly be beautiful. Confidence makes you look hot, so what do I do when I’ve lost all that lot.

Somedays it’s okay, somedays it’s not. Somedays I want to cut bits off. I’m so uncomfortable in here it feels like a cage, put a marker on this come back to this page. Because I know I’m not alone in this thought. There’s a million other people who have been taught.

That they’ll never be pretty enough for anyone and I know that hurts a shit tonne. It’s bull crap we know it yet here we are. Comparing myself to the highest of bars. Hoping that I’m good enough for the standards we made. Man I hate this body, would you like to trade?