I feel so alone as I sit here in my bed coughing up my lungs like I have for the past five months. I wish someone would come to fix it. I’m apprehensive about the journey that lies ahead of me. The mountain that I’ve attempted and failed for so many long years. I feel like my mindset is different and better now. I know I am completely capable of doing this, yet something holds me back. I can’t put my finger on it. No matter how many lonely hours I lay awake in my bed, tossing and turning, trying so wildly to find a position that feels like me; where there are no rolls, or blobs of fat. I put it there though. I did all of this to myself and I’m reaping the punishment of my hatred fueled prison.
I don’t want to be touched, I want to be alone, but at the same time I want the opposite of everything I receive. In this moment I don’t seek love or support from anyone around me, for I must complete this on my own. Relying on others for happiness results in the theft of it. No near sighted goal will long be accomplished without proper action. I had the body that I wanted. I was “perfect” to myself. I see that now, but then it wasn’t enough for me. I was ungrateful and I suppose that could be a reason the universe took it from me. To teach me that if I’m going to live there, I have to be grateful for every moment rather than wait for it.
Still it seems as though I refuse to work for what I’m after, I’m lazy, my ambitions are lost talk. Such surface assumptions made by even those closest to me. Those who doubt me more than I doubt myself, and those who hinder my forward growth because they’re stuck in the past as I was. I don’t want to do what I did to be where I was, because if I did, I’d end up here again. If I want to make improvements to my condition I first must accept the present. Something I’ve done, or at least am quickly achieving. I am here now. I then must dissect the issues with my physical being. My body, my skin, my cough, the metabolic processes which my organs carry out. Those organs are what keep me alive. I treat them so poorly. I am so harsh. I put pure garbage into them because my tongue tells me to. I hate my tongue. It’s probably my least favorite part of my body. If I could remove my taste buds I would. Then I could eat only the most essential nutrients without all of the trash. There’s just something about junk food that addicts us like cocaine. I’m breaking that. I don’t care the struggle I’ll go through, or the sleepless nights like this one that I’ll meet. Eventually, someday I know I’ll look back on this and wish I could hug the girl who wrote this and tell her what I’m currently typing. I’ll be okay.
Back to the present, somewhere I wish I didn’t have to be. I can’t say “I’m starting tomorrow” because there’s no way to start over, plus who really sticks to those empty words. You don’t get a rewind in life, though if I did, I know the exact millisecond I’d go back to.
I’m sorry to my beautiful body for what I’ve covered it with, and put into it. You are what you eat, so that makes me utter waste. Everyone around me is disappointing in me, and that heavily reflects on my well being and my ability to get out of this sedentary rut. I won’t be pretty until I’m lean again, but I can try to be happy. Until then I’ll try to hide the ugly, but it lingers..