Here it goes.
I want to explain (mostly to myself) why I need to starve right now. First of all, I would like to warn you, not you the bloggers, but you, you know who I'm talking about, that this will be a personal post about female issues. Ok? Ok.
I am scared of aging. I am scared of physically becoming first a woman, then middle-aged, then really old. I am not afraid of wrinkles or responsability or disease: I am afraid of expanding. I am afraid of looking like most twenty year-olds, thirty-year old, fourty year-olds. I am horrified my hips and stomachs and thies and rolls. Especially rolls. And the older I am, the closer I get to these carbohydrate nightmares. Baby fat and mom jeans and stretch marks and cellulite.
It isn't that I don't want to grow up. I just want to grow up by my own standards. I see pudgy middle-aged woman and I know I will never be happy with that kind of body, ever. Maybe I'm just to conscious of my physicality. I can feel every part of my body all the time and they are too much. I can't deal with more expansion. I can feel the weight of my body pulling me down and it's exhausting. I'm already so aware of everything around me, I don't think I can't take much more! Sometimes I hate every inch of my body. The more inches there are, the more I hate. The more pounds, the more meters cubed.
I am scared of summer and tee-shirts and bathing suits and short shorts. I am scared of spring because spring brings back the hatred, the desperation and the self-inflicted pain. I love spring dearly but it scares me so.
I am scared of people dying and people leaving and people forgetting. I am scared of being stuck in one place forever and of never finding a place where I feel safe. I am afraid of chocolate and ice cream and well-intentioned grand-parents with fragile hearts. Of over-bearing mothers who make snyde remarks. Of falling apart again and losing a few more pieces never to be found. Of venom and poison and jealousy. Of putting on a mask to have it slip off at the worst possible time.
And I am terrified of losing my will to live, to be, to defeat and to conquer.
In my effort to conquer boredom I tampered with the blog layout a little bit. What do you think?
I want to explain (mostly to myself) why I need to starve right now. First of all, I would like to warn you, not you the bloggers, but you, you know who I'm talking about, that this will be a personal post about female issues. Ok? Ok.
I am scared of aging. I am scared of physically becoming first a woman, then middle-aged, then really old. I am not afraid of wrinkles or responsability or disease: I am afraid of expanding. I am afraid of looking like most twenty year-olds, thirty-year old, fourty year-olds. I am horrified my hips and stomachs and thies and rolls. Especially rolls. And the older I am, the closer I get to these carbohydrate nightmares. Baby fat and mom jeans and stretch marks and cellulite.
It isn't that I don't want to grow up. I just want to grow up by my own standards. I see pudgy middle-aged woman and I know I will never be happy with that kind of body, ever. Maybe I'm just to conscious of my physicality. I can feel every part of my body all the time and they are too much. I can't deal with more expansion. I can feel the weight of my body pulling me down and it's exhausting. I'm already so aware of everything around me, I don't think I can't take much more! Sometimes I hate every inch of my body. The more inches there are, the more I hate. The more pounds, the more meters cubed.
I am scared of summer and tee-shirts and bathing suits and short shorts. I am scared of spring because spring brings back the hatred, the desperation and the self-inflicted pain. I love spring dearly but it scares me so.
I am scared of people dying and people leaving and people forgetting. I am scared of being stuck in one place forever and of never finding a place where I feel safe. I am afraid of chocolate and ice cream and well-intentioned grand-parents with fragile hearts. Of over-bearing mothers who make snyde remarks. Of falling apart again and losing a few more pieces never to be found. Of venom and poison and jealousy. Of putting on a mask to have it slip off at the worst possible time.
And I am terrified of losing my will to live, to be, to defeat and to conquer.
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In my effort to conquer boredom I tampered with the blog layout a little bit. What do you think?
3 comments:
Love the layout. And I, too, wish I could grow old on my own terms... I want all the experience with none of the mass-added.
lovin' the new layout!
I love what you did with that picture above!! It really fits the description of falling apart and losing pieces.
Hope you feel better soon!
xxx
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