Size

I've been thinking about this for a while. Size and all that.

I'm underweight. I always have been and to be honest, I hope I always will be. I've never denied this. So when girls who are overweight ask me how I feel about dating people their size, they are always shocked by my answer.

See, I prefer people who are heavier than me. In pictures. In real life, I couldn't give a damn what a woman's body looked like. Personality and facial expressions have always won over body type, easily. I prefer images of women with curves. Not completely thin. Voluptuous. Pneumatic. 1950s. Healthy, really. I don't know why, it's just what I've always been drawn to.

There was one girl in particular today who is overweight and prefers the term BBW (Big Beautiful Woman). She was asking the group of us how we would feel about dating a girl like her. She said that she always felt so alone. That she felt like no one could ever be attracted to her body and her body is the reason she is single. She isn't the first person to confide in me about such a thing.

So I told her a story. I told her the story of a girl I dated. Now, every single girl I've dated has been beautiful in their own right, but this girl was SO beautiful. She was overweight. Not just "hour glass" overweight, but overweight. And she... she had this habit of stealing my breath away without even knowing it.

Sometimes she'd turn her head and the sunlight or a stop light would hit her hair in such a way and my body would forget how to breathe. Sometimes her face would be lost in thought, her brow furrowed and her lips slightly pursed. I'd notice the perfection in her eyelashes, the small blotches and lines that made up her lips and in the realization that her beauty was composed of the smallest divine dots and brush strokes, I'd find myself about to cry. Her skin was so perfect. Beyond perfect, even. Beyond because of the blemishes, the small hairs. The little things that reminded me that I was awake and this was real. I never thought, never imagined that anyone could look so breath taking.

But she never let me near her stomach. I had to avoid that area all together. That place was hers, and I was never given the right to be let in. I'd tell her that I thought she was beautiful, but I don't think she ever believed me. You have to understand just HOW beautiful I thought this girl was. Her gorgeous freckles, how tiny and small her fingers were. They were cute on her tall body. I wanted to hold them to my chest and never let them go, to play with the spaces and the cracks between them and to just be close to her. To trace the pattern of her nose with my eyes. I think after her skin, her nose was my favourite part of her body.

She never got comfortable enough to let me touch her stomach. It made her feel too self conscious. But... in my absolute and complete honesty, of all the girls I've dated, no matter w thin, she was always the most beautiful. Even if I was to subtract her personality out entirely (though of course, I would much prefer her with it), no one even came fucking close.

I am NOT a "chubby chaser." I am just a lesbian. I think women are beautiful. And I just so happened to have found divinity in a body that was over weight.

Being overweight does NOT make someone ugly. It does NOT make someone undesirable. It just makes them overweight.

So if someone tells you you are beautiful and you just so happen to hate your body, you might find yourself repulsive for some reason or another. But that person who is telling you over and over again that you are beautiful could be like me. They could be noticing you in those most subtle of moments, those cracks between seconds. Where the sun passes through a tree and catches on you leaving, illuminating your hair and eyes and leaving them wondering how it is that a creature seemingly so ethereal would even give a damn about their coincidental existence.

Plans

So, there are things I need to do. Things I need to get off my chest.

1. I need to be myself. After being cookie cutter shaped for so long, it became hard to remember the feel of who I actually was. I need to be strong. More sturdy. I need to not be afraid of continuing on my path and growing. I do not like the person who I think I am, but I do not like the person I am pretending to be either. If I am going to dislike myself, at least let me be honest. And you never know, I may actually get along with her, the real me. Don't be afraid of taking chances. It's okay. Let life play out. And cut off all the loose ends that are still hanging behind you.

2. Don't give up. The next six months ahead of you may seem hopeless, but a call may come tomorrow that gives you something to fill in your meantimes with.

3. Unpack my room. It's about damn time. Hang up the faerie lights your friend so lovingly made for you. Bring out the alter. Reconnect with the world around you. Explore your gifts. Do not be afraid.

4. Don't compromise yourself for others. I know, baby I know it's hard. I know you would give anything to be loved, but wouldn't you give even more if you could love yourself instead?

5. Get those abs you've always dreamed of. Make a list of trades you want to learn. Organize them so you know what you want to learn most. We both know fire hooping and knife throwing are at the top. Why don't we start there?

So, I kind of unknowingly fell through.

It has been about 3 months since I last cut (YES!), however I've taken back up another form of SI without knowing it.

I don't know if what I have can technically classify as an Eating Disorder, since it is not as severe as what other people have. See, I'm underweight. I know this, I'm incredibly thin. But when I stop eating, it isn't because I want to lose weight (usually), it is because I can control the fact that I am not eating. Like "LOOK AT WHAT I CAN DO! HA HA HA! LOOK, WE JUST WENT FOR *THREE* DAYS WITHOUT EATING! HOW AWESOME IS THAT!" And then when I realize I've become thinner and thinner, it's like "BONUS!" I'm still just nosing the surface of my ideal weight range, so it isn't drastic. but the last time this happened, I dropped 15 pounds.

I'm terrified of not eating, but I'm more terrified of what will happen if I [b]do[/b] eat - I ate a lot yesterday and I immediately wanted it out of me. Realizing what it was that I was even considering, I quickly distracted myself and went to bed. I don't know what to do. I know I'm thin, that isn't even the issue. The issue is that my life is spiraling out of control right now and I feel as though I have nothing to hold onto. But, if I refuse to do this, if I stay strong enough to resist doing what I want to give into, I at least have control of something in my life. And that's more than I would have if I stopped.

I can't breathe.

I really have no reason for feeling this way. I was doing fine, amazing even. I just felt the pull... that sudden drop. There was the resistance I know all too well, resistance to fight it. Not this time. Not again. I was finally stable. I went to the psych ward for a reason. I went there so that I could get better. I put myself on meds. I've been taking them every day like a good girl.

My floor is sinking.

For the past two days, I could barely move myself from my bed. I feel like there is something caught within my lungs, something heavy. I had not been thinking of anything depressing, nothing brought this on. I would like to make this clear. Nothing had brought this on.

I suppose that is the case with bipolar, though. It's painful when people judge you for it... blame you for your own instability because of your 'way of thinking.' Obviously, I just am not trying hard enough. I'm living my life incorrectly. I have to find that 'secret' that they are so convinced they have found.

The difference? They do not have bipolar.

Someone who was once very close to me now has this mindset. It's hurtful, even though I am not there and I was not the one who was targeted with these words. My friend tells me that I'm doing something called a downward spiral. She blames herself for bringing up my ex - perhaps if she didn't, I'd rise up in the water like a cork.

I've skipped too many classes in the last few days. I've been getting all As, been following through with all my commitments, and now this.

Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this. I have done nothing. I have done nothing.

I... have to come to terms with the fact that this will never stop. A friend of mine today told me that the meds were my water wings, but I still have to swim to the surface. But it's so hard.

Do I want to live a life where no matter what it is I do, I will always be stuck in an elliptical orbit like a galaxy around a black hole? Is it worth it to survive just to prove that I am strong, which I very well know that I am. Would it be weak to make a logical choice? Not out of pain, but logic. Not cowardice, but a conclussion come to from many calculations.

I have problems with how I always bounce back and forth between private emotions and societal emotions. One really needs to look at both to choose the best of choices, but really, this is how it is.

One day, I will die. We all will die. And one day, very soon actually since we are quite over due, an object, probably an asteroid, will stray from the Kuiper belt and smack into the earth, wiping out all life. What will the point of any impact I make on the earth be? Any of us? Through time, everything will be forgotten. Who will remember anything after the humans are gone?

Maybe there are no 'why's in the world. Maybe we're looking too deep, as we do in poetry. Maybe the answer is right in front of our noses, but if so, I am hypocritical laying here and trying to type it out.

What more is there to say.

I really thought I had finally found stability. But maybe the only way I shall ever find it is to come to terms with the fact that this hell will never stop. And I will never be stable.

Exerpt of story I'm working on - Letter to Lily.

I think the major irony in this is that I feel like a whore, not you.

I saw a shooting star last night, the second one I had ever seen in my life. I was out of state, in Gettysburgh in a field in the middle of nowhere. Laying on top of my friend's car, we saw it shoot across the sky. It was falling down to earth, as though it was falling down to us. Its tail lit rainbow and we could see it burn. We were so happy. Everything was going to be okay. Everything.

I am a person of second guesses. I always make sure I mean what I say and think because I don't want to change my mind in the near future. But as I was speaking, I realized... this is what I want. Despite your cruel words and accusations, I have found that I am a strong person not because of our relationship, but because I am me. The relationship has been wearing me down. Knowing you so well, knowing what you are thinking (whilst you call me paranoid) before you even realize it yourself, I know what is to come.

You make me want to vomit. I already can't keep the food down, so I have no appetite. I don't eat unless forced. I can't sleep. I lay awake and stare at the ceiling. I count the seconds... the minutes... the hours. I watch the shadows on the walls change. It isn't what you want that hurts me, but rather your lack of compromise. It's not even realizing that you've put me on the back burner. It's the hypocrisy in claiming that I do not love you. At this point, you've threatened me with a break, but I fear that I want more than that. I'm not your bitch on hold, I am your fiance. But I am also my own person with my own feelings. I never wanted to be your wife, but rather your partner. Though, it's clear to me now that what you wanted was much the opposite. A year ago, you promised me this would never happen again, and yet 12 months later you seem to have taken it many steps further.

Threatening someone into doing something, manipulating them by fear of harm is the exact tactic rapists use, and I find it angled and comical that you've used the same methods of those that you hate. I will admit, when it first began I did not wish to go through with it. I found myself walking for hours when you refused to reply to my texts. Walking... searching... I thought about the lake but it's too polluted even for that purpose. No rope. But - aha! - how easy are knives to find on this campus? Quite easy. In my room even. I texted goodbyes in ways that were slightly subtle... so that they'd KNOW I loved them, but they wouldn't do anything because they could just be misinterpreting things.

Couldn't find the knife, but behold the razors! I found myself a shower stall far away from the rest. Never had I felt this way; without a doubt in my mind, I wanted to die. There was nothing holding me back saying "Maybe we don't want to do this", because we did want to do this, all parts of me. I bent the razor so that the blade bent out. It sliced open my finger, which startled me. I was... enthralled by how the blood wouldn't stop dribbling to the surface of my skin. It had been about a year since I last self injured.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, I held out my wrist. You're supposed to slice downward, aren't you? But where? The first mark to ever graze my wrist formed. But I was... too much a coward to slice the vein. "Just a little cut" I said, "Just a small slice and it's done." I held it to my skin. I pushed a bit more, I rocked the blade but it wouldn't cut my flesh. I was scared.

Enraged by my own cowardice, my leg became the victim. No longer caring about being subtle, hiding what I have the power to do to myself, I massacred it. I carved in letters, I made heaping gapes. It was no longer calculated as all my other sessions had been, but bloody and angry and so sick of it all.

I exited the shower and discarded my make-shift knife. I reentered my dorm. My friend had called me. I tried my best to seem calm. She told me she didn't know what was going on. She tried to distract my mind with stories I can relate to all so well. But then the conversation drifted back to me and finally, I spoke.

I let out close to everything. She was stunned. My close friend, this dear woman, was at a lack for words for the first time since I knew her. She told me she didn't know how I was handling this so well. She said if she were me, she'd be flipping shit. I was numbed by my excursions in the shower, I could think. My voice was calculated. A few times, I started crying during our conversation, but I quickly corrected myself.

It was about ten minutes after the phone conversation that I started bawling. My roommate, by my side with tissues, a water bottle for rehydration and a trash can for vomit, I was sobbing something terrible. For three hours, my panic attack shook the both of us. I don't remember what I said to her, just repeating over and over that I didn't want this to happen. That I didn't want her to do this. That I didn't want to lose her and that I had no choice. My sobs woke the rooms in our hall. Knocks on our door at three AM, people not sure if I was alright. Sending me support. People I hardly know, people who had no knowledge of what was going on, just that I sounded awful.

I was determined to keep you, no matter what it took. No matter what you wanted of me. That's why I gave you permission, because of all your threats. Just as it's still rape if a girl gives her consent under extreme pressure, can it still be cheating if the conditions for me are the same? "It's either this or a break", you said. "I do this because I respect you. I could very well have just gone and done it." At the time, I didn't realize you could laugh at such a line. How hilarious it was. How utterly and sickeningly hilarious that you believe that you respect me. That you believe to love me! It's heart-wrenchingly, unbearably too funny! "You know," you said, "while I do this, you should get therapy." Our friend gaped, cheese fry in hand as I told her. Me? I find more irony in this than she does. How you worship at the feet of this musician and yet use the same lines her lovers used on her. And so often.

My panic attacks shake me, they are relentless. This is hell and yet, I do not wish to die. I wish to live. And that leads me to my final point: the point of loss. I do love you. And I'm so glad you think what you're doing is going to make you happy. You never know, maybe it is. But life is give and take and I am empty. I have given you so much and suffered for it each time. Each day my body grows weaker and this, this is too much too fast too not now. Too uncompromising, too uncaring, too unfidelic and too abusive.

You have lost me. I have waited for you, like a ghost waiting for you to walk through the door, I have vanished with time, I am ready to move on. And while I love you, I will quote what you have quoted and say to you "You just want to get laid", and look, now I'm giving you all the space you'll ever need. There were no other options you'd consider. You didn't even want to hear options, you just wanted me to say yes or be ready for you on the back burner.

But I am not your wife. I do not hang in wait at your every action. I am a person. I am the same as you are, and yet so different. I would never have done to you what you have done to me.

I'll keep your ring as a cross. It will never leave my hand. It will serve as a reminder years later, of how far I've come. I will have the stone reset so I can not lose it. It will be... my favourite object that I own. It will be my tattoo.

I've learned a lot. I've learned about love. I've learned what it's like to give yourself to a person... selflessly. Unconditionally. I've learned to be kind to others; I will never expect anything back from them. But... the most important thing I've learned is that I do love myself. There is this person inside of me who is so beautiful and so strong. She fights, you know. She fights for the good of others and for her right to live. She is taller than she knew. More independent, more wise. More revolutionary.

I wonder if you'll ever read this, though a large part of me doubts it. That's okay though; just writing this I've gotten to know myself a bit more. I'll tell you today, but I doubt you'll listen to my story. In my mind you're either too thrilled to get rid of me or you'll paint yourself as a martyr (which I also find sarcastically amusing).

I hope you'll make a great therapist. You have a way of bringing out sides of arguments that most people can not see. But love, sometimes you're wrong. And if you want to grow, you're going to have to remember that. Become a person who isn't so against second guesses. Become a person who makes sure she isn't hurting others when she doesn't need to.

My heart is broken, I will admit this now and be unashamed of it. It is shattered into billions of pieces. But hearts mend. I am turned off by the aspect of sex now; I'm sure it won't stay this way forever. I'm not going to go looking for love, but when it finds me I will not hide.

Life goes on.

So now I am saying goodbye. And I wish you the best of happiness, and I wish for you to grow.

Regards,
.K

I had a dream I was dead.

They didn't let me keep the dreams, but I remember that they were good. I felt like I was finally in a space where I belonged with people I can't remember...

I had a dream all of this was over and I wasn't so angry and frustrated anymore.

I had a dream that there were no more expectations. I remember there was a girl with curly blonde hair, but I don't remember what she was saying to me.

It was a heavy sleep, like that out of a blessing. And in my dream, I could finally breathe.

Acceptance

I think I'm starting to come to the acceptance that without meds, I won't be able to function in society.

From my eyes, at this moment, it looks like this:

There's the outside world. And then there's mine. I'm safe here. For the time being, at least. But I can't live out there. I feel as though I'm going insane. Things are disappearing, physical things. Think I can't function without. My only sanctuaries are being torn down by my own hands, and I don't mean to do so. It's not my fault. It's out of my control, it's not in my hands.

Too many strikes. I know I will not be forgiven. I know I am losing all the things I had worked so hard for, things that came to me as gifts from the universe.

I wanted to cut myself today, but I knew that wouldn't stop anything. Wouldn't delay anything. So instead, I formulated a plan to kill myself. The pills are next to me, three different types. But upon further research, I had found that these pills, these OTC pills are designed SPECIFICALLY to prevent overdosing. My razor is too high quality to come apart in my hands. I am alone.

A large part of me wants to check into the hospital, but then I wouldn't finish this semester and I'd have to start all over again. Further behind. Much further behind as I see the rest of everyone I know and love moving forward...

I feel as though I'm watching the world from a glass wall. It's safe in here, for the time being. But the effects of being a flake, of not facing what's outside are going to build up and attack me.

They say suicide is not a crime, but self defense. I am defective. People form disabilities because of traumatic experiences and they can heal. But I was born with this. I was born broken, defective. I always fight people when they tell me I'm broken. I retaliate. I say I'll challenge anyone and prove them wrong. Fight until they all see how strong I am.

But I am broken. And now that I think of it, I've been broken my entire life.

I can't function anymore without meds. I can't do it. So either way, the outcome is a pill.

My friend is picking me up. I can't be alone right now. In the end, everything is going to be okay.