'"I'm so afraid to tell people how much I feel because of rejection, so I bury it deep inside me where it only destroys me more; self-destruction red alert. It is indeed a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply." (@internallylost)
Every time I take a look at myself in front of the mirror all I can see is a perfectly stunning and gorgeous lass but why is it that when I look at other people's eyes all they see is trash. That one girl who's friends with all these good looking and outstanding individuals and there she is trying to belong, yes she fits in but she doesn't belong. And then, unconsciously I'm losing myself all over again. Why can't I be enough? Why was I never enough to anyone? I'm enough for myself but with all these inside and outside factors that continually make me feel ugly and rejected, I'm dying more and more each day. I feel so insecure, I feel so incomplete, I feel unwanted, an outcast, imperfect, and most of all UGLY!
Am I not gorgeous just because I don't have a clear and fair skin like them? Because I don't have that straight and perfect white teeth and I had to deal with my bothersome unaligned upper right tooth and light yellowish teeth? Because I don't have that kissable lips and perfect smile? Because my hair has never been dyed from red to blonde and it has stayed naturally black since birth? Because I don't wear make-up? Because I have small eyes? Because I don't look like my age? Because I'm petite? Or simply because I'm not as good and interesting as they are? The reason why I keep mum about all of this and decided to just put it into writing is because people would think I'm seeking for their attention, I'm asking them for pity. When all I ever want is just for them to respect who I am and how I choose to appear like. Just because I don't look like all of them doesn't make me any different, I am beautiful in my own way. But honestly speaking, I'm feeling invisible and trying to be visible when most of the time I want to be invisible this paradox is killing me. What is wrong with me? Why won't anyone see me? Why is everyone treating me less? Is it wrong to be good? Is it wrong to be who I am? Is it wrong to die because I'm ugly?
I'm frustrated of who they expect me to be, of who I want to be, and of who I should be. I'm trying my very best but I guess the reason why I kept failing is because there's no best that can be found in me, nothing but the best of being a huge mistake and failure. I'm doing everything I could to help and heal myself from all of my miseries but no matter what I do it always ends up killing me in all aspects and forms. I keep mum about this even though I'm very talkative because I don't want to hear anything they have to say because even the slightest word or gesture kills me and I know they can't heal me. I am broken, I am torn, I am dying, and no one else knows but me.
I am full of insecurities. My forehead is too wide that I try to hide it with my 'side bangs'. My teeth aren't white and dazzling as diamond. My face isn't as soft and clear as a baby since pimples started to show up here and there. My lips are as pale as it is. I am a hairy wolf and I refuse to shave the hair on my legs. My armpit's hair grows too fast, it has chicken skin and not so white. The size of my eyes aren't equal one is obviously quite bigger than the other. I have trouble with my metabolism that I don't seem to gain weight. I don't have a sexy and fit body, that 36-24-36 is far way too impossible. My bust size is 34 cup A, my ass isn't that sexy enough, the rib cage beneath my skin is visible enough, the veins on my arms are visible enough that any medical practitioner who'd get a blood sample would love because they won't have much difficult time searching for the right vein.
I don't know how to dance nor sing. I'm not even good in acting. I tend to have a bad temper and become heartless. I unfortunately don't look like my age. I never had my hair dyed not until I had the courage to last 2016. I still don't know how to put make-up on, but somehow I do only lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner which obviously I can never get right. I stand only 5'2" 1/2 and most of all I am not as gorgeous as they are but I am me. I love myself beyond my flaws and imperfections. I am not afraid of people seeing with my bare face and wearing house clothes. This is me, I love myself and I would never want to change who I am for whom I'm not. If I would change, I would change for the best, better than who I am right now. I won't change just to fit in and look stunning for people around me. I don't function that way. I would do things for myself and not for anyone else. I love myself but I am ashamed, ashamed because I don't fit anyone's standards but the overwhelming confidence of being raw takes over most of the time. This is me, this is me, this is me. I am me.
It sucks when I know that I am damaged, I try to live every day as if I never self-destructed and suddenly I crash all over again and I have nothing else left to do but to pretend that I was never scared. Everyone is around me but no one ever seems to notice how fucked up my life is, 80% of my life I've always searched on the internet how to kill myself or end up in coma. I've been suffering from this mental illness at a young age. Does it have something to do with what I've been through during my childhood? Whatever the cause maybe all I know is I feel lost and hurt, at the edge of breaking down. Always. I drank perfume and cologne during grade school days, even tried shampoo, the liquefied crayons, everything but nothing happened. Still I never gave up on finding ways of how to end up my life even up to date. I tried to suffocate myself by strangling, choking, putting a plastic bag in my head. Once I tried to hang myself but the ceiling is not high enough. Even thought of jumping off a fast moving vehicle, jumping off the railway in a matter of few seconds before the train stops to pick-up passengers in the station, cross a deadly highway, electrocution, everything from A to Z. Most I've tried, some attempted, and other a bit scared to try. I don't really want to die, I just want someone to not only hear me and listen to me, but someone who will be there for me. Bible verses and words of encouragement, counselling, and pretentious listeners doesn't work anymore.
Razor blade and the needle has always been my best friend, I gave up on needles because they get rusty unlike stainless and sharp razor blades. I always have one with me wherever I am. Why? Because I'd rather transmit emotional pain to physical pain. I've been bruised and hurt physically a lot of times, at first it hurts but the worse it is the more I feel better because all of it is nothing compared to the amount of pain my heart has. It came to the point where I lost myself crying and cut my left wrist in front of one of my parents, but again, I was misunderstood and got scolded making things terrible than it ever was. As I grew up and age, I looked for alternative outlets and found comfort in writing. That's when I developed my love for papers, diaries, planners, notebooks, and even books alone. I calm myself through scribbling. I don't have an extensive vocabulary so all my blog posts and diary entries sounds so elementary but this is one way for me to stop hurting myself physically. I also found tranquility when I'm walking in the streets under the night sky without any destination. The ocean did a lot to me too, the sand, the waves, the beach, the sun, the reason why I try to make make it to a point that I can spend few days by the shore.
My near death experience was when I finally had all the courage I need to take a step up and overdosed myself from sixty (sixty) pieces of Bayer aspirin which can be bought over-the-counter. The timing was perfect because of the unbearable pain, I still hid everything from everyone and the only reason they know why I did that was because my ex whom I loved wholeheartedly cheated on me. They never figured out and knew that I did that because I'm trapped in this miserable life that no matter what I try to do I end up failing each time and even fail at killing myself. I read in a piece of paper (which they tried to hide from me), that I have mild bipolar disorder and it didn't surprised me at all when my family wasn't even alarmed and they took it as if it says that I'm insane. I am not. I am damaged, hurt, broken, depressed but not insane. This is severe than being insane. Being in the right mind fighting all the demons in our head and trying to numb your fragile heart, how's about that? Has anyone wondered how difficult it is living in this kind of situation and suffering from this illness? Mental health illness. There are a lot of advocates on Facebook but still some people disregard it, avoids the issue, and even over analyze things as if they know anything. What you've been through is different from mine. I hate it whenever they say 'I've been through that' and in an instant it turns to a five-minute life lesson. It doesn't help if you shout at me, if you scold or nag me. If you ignore me, if you think I'm insane. If you pity me, if you argue with me. Trust and listen to me, that's what I need. That's what will make me feel better at one point or the other.
Razor blade and the needle has always been my best friend, I gave up on needles because they get rusty unlike stainless and sharp razor blades. I always have one with me wherever I am. Why? Because I'd rather transmit emotional pain to physical pain. I've been bruised and hurt physically a lot of times, at first it hurts but the worse it is the more I feel better because all of it is nothing compared to the amount of pain my heart has. It came to the point where I lost myself crying and cut my left wrist in front of one of my parents, but again, I was misunderstood and got scolded making things terrible than it ever was. As I grew up and age, I looked for alternative outlets and found comfort in writing. That's when I developed my love for papers, diaries, planners, notebooks, and even books alone. I calm myself through scribbling. I don't have an extensive vocabulary so all my blog posts and diary entries sounds so elementary but this is one way for me to stop hurting myself physically. I also found tranquility when I'm walking in the streets under the night sky without any destination. The ocean did a lot to me too, the sand, the waves, the beach, the sun, the reason why I try to make make it to a point that I can spend few days by the shore.
My near death experience was when I finally had all the courage I need to take a step up and overdosed myself from sixty (sixty) pieces of Bayer aspirin which can be bought over-the-counter. The timing was perfect because of the unbearable pain, I still hid everything from everyone and the only reason they know why I did that was because my ex whom I loved wholeheartedly cheated on me. They never figured out and knew that I did that because I'm trapped in this miserable life that no matter what I try to do I end up failing each time and even fail at killing myself. I read in a piece of paper (which they tried to hide from me), that I have mild bipolar disorder and it didn't surprised me at all when my family wasn't even alarmed and they took it as if it says that I'm insane. I am not. I am damaged, hurt, broken, depressed but not insane. This is severe than being insane. Being in the right mind fighting all the demons in our head and trying to numb your fragile heart, how's about that? Has anyone wondered how difficult it is living in this kind of situation and suffering from this illness? Mental health illness. There are a lot of advocates on Facebook but still some people disregard it, avoids the issue, and even over analyze things as if they know anything. What you've been through is different from mine. I hate it whenever they say 'I've been through that' and in an instant it turns to a five-minute life lesson. It doesn't help if you shout at me, if you scold or nag me. If you ignore me, if you think I'm insane. If you pity me, if you argue with me. Trust and listen to me, that's what I need. That's what will make me feel better at one point or the other.
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