So pissed that I just did that shit.
But I’m getting better at letting it go.
August 9, 2013 ~ a reminder for myself and my beauty.
My beauty is my empathy. I am able to see every side of every story and be aware of many different opinions. I can see truth and help others come to that realization too.
My beauty is my smile and laugh. I can—and will—laugh at everything. Nothing makes me happier than socializing and laughing until my stomach hurts. I feel most beautiful when I’m laughing.
My beauty is my compassion. I look out for all those around me and have so much love for so many people.
My beauty is physically hard to see. Most people don’t think I’m beautiful and it hurts.
My beauty is my authenticity. I love to be my own person, but I’m also not afraid to blend in at certain times.
My beauty is my strength. I have faith in my own life and my own self. I believe that I am capable of doing great things, however I don’t want to be alone. I’m naturally dependent and sometimes I fear that will hold me back. I’m trying to see dependence as beauty too.
My beauty is permanent. Nothing can take my beauty away from me. I am in control of my own beauty.
"How are you feeling, Jacqueline," Christine questions as the eucalyptus trees gently sway around us.
A small ray of sunshine pokes through the trees and for a moment during a San Francisco I feel warm.
"I don’t know," I say as another breeze envelopes my skin. "It just feels…right."
Right. It’s how we’re supposed to feel, right? Yet in that moment, I became so aware of my body, of the thickness of my thighs, the roundness of my face, the ache in my stomach. I became overwhelmed with dizziness.
Skip dinner. You’ve had so much starch today. Drink water instead.
I hate myself. I don’t deserve to feel right.
Wrong. That’s where I belong. I don’t fit in the “right” world.
I hope one day
something goes wrong
and instead I purge
myself of myself.
It would be beautiful.
Organs cascading over my teeth
and bones reaching out
through my lips
like a kiss.
I hope one day
I look down in the bowl
and I see myself,
myself, as I really was,
now torn apart,
as I am nothing but empty skin—
an empty body bag.
And with my failed body flushed,
I could grow new organs back
and become who I want to be.
I hope, one day.
It’s strange. When I purge I don’t remember the train of thought that lead up to doing it.
I just stand up after it and think.. What just happened? That’s the worst part. There’s not even a clear reason.
I just need to be thin, me and my subconscious are on the same page, it seems.
i love purging.
i purged tonight for the first time in two months.
sometimes i throw up and it’s awful and i feel like shit. and other times, i walk away and feel so proud, so accomplished, so satisfied.
i’ve binged a lot these past few months.
by a lot i mean A LOT.
and every time i binge i get this sugar drunk feeling. this numbness. a huge part of me wants to go to sleep. but another huge part of me doesn’t. it wants to do something else.
something is missing.
it’s purging. and god do i love it. i love it so much i wish i could do it every time i ate. the only reason i don’t do it is because i know it makes my face puffy. that’s the only reason.
and that’s fucked up. the only fucking reason i don’t do something i love—regardless of health effects—is for image.
this is such a setback it physically hurts me, mentally hurts me—it hurts me in every way. but i’ve realized that i miss purging so much. and that if i do binge, which i don’t want to anymore, the very least i can do is purge.
because i’d rather be bulimic than a binge eater. and id rather be anorexic than bulimic.
yeah…and the sad truth comes out.
……i swear this is where i started.
this is where it all began.
around the bend you’re standing there
around the bend we stop and stare
i catch my breath but you don’t care
around the bend we realize life isn’t fair
i’m all alone, you don’t get it
family just doesn’t cut it
call me your blood, call me your friend
please don’t pretend cause i can’t pretend
Freshly baked cookies in the hot tub
The Blue Angels
My own room
The most perfect even when I wasn’t
You were—you are the most complicated person i have ever dealt with
No one else in this world will ever make me feel so loved while fucking me up at the same time, like you did
i was always your little girl
i was what Nicole couldn’t be for you
you made up for what you did with her by putting me on this unrealistic pedestal
i’m not the girl you imagined
i don’t think i’ll ever be
i don’t know HOW to be her
i want so bad to be her—no matter what i say, i want to be her
i know that you can’t love yourself fully, so how can i expect you to love me
but at the same time, no one loves themselves fully
as your child, why does it seem like you don’t love me at all
the only time you show any sort of affection is when you’re drunk
i know i’ll never forgive you. a part of me will always hurt when you turned your back on me. when i called you into my school, freshman year, to talk to my counselor with me because you didn’t allow me to see my therapist anymore. by the government, you were forced to come.
and we both cried together. and i looked into your eyes and i saw my dad. i saw you.
or at least i thought i did.
you were high.
and you married her. three hours later.
i love you. but i’ll never forgive you. and i feel like you know that. and so you hold yourself back.
but you’re the parent. you fucked up. so why are you holding everything against me.
maybe i’m playing the victim. maybe i just need to let it all go and start over. but it’s so hard. it’s so hard to let go of how i feel. it’s so hard to let go of the feeling that your father looked into your eyes with more love than anything, and then legally turned away from you in a matter of hours.
that was 5 years ago. i should be over that. but it hurts. it will probably always hurt.
the truth is i will always care about you. i want you to walk me down the aisle. i want you to bake cookies with me like you used to. i want you to take me to Servino’s. and eat brushetta. i want to go out on the boat, staring at the oncoming waves, but always knowing that you’re in the driver’s seat. you’re taking care of me and my safety.
i want all that so bad.
unrealistic. because everything i dream of with you is unrealistic.
i just wish i could be me when i’m with you.
at the end of the day, that’s what i want.
that’s what i need.
even if i’m not what you love.