Sometimes I feel fat.
Sometimes I hate my body in general and I know that many people feel this way from time to time. This self hatred that I have for myself affects me severely. I don’t want to write, be touched, fuss over my appearance. I hate choosing clothes – nothing looks good enough – and can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror.
How I look from day to day is affected by many things. Sleep is a big deal for me. I’m not one of those people who can have five hours. I have a variety of sleep disturbances pretty often including waking many times a night, being unable to hit deep sleep and simply insomnia. This lack of quality sleep makes me look like I’ve been partying pretty damn hard for seven days. It makes my thinking and movements slow. It puts me in a grumpy haze.
My IBS also contributes to my body confidence issues. Bloating that comes on suddenly and lingers regardless of what I do, aching and general discomfort do not make me feel pretty or sexy.
This is part of something deeper for me which is depression. Almost four years ago I was diagnosed with anorexia and I’m yet to shake that disordered way of thinking.
The guilt doesn’t go as quickly as the weight comes back.
It’s reassurance I need. Over some of the strangest things, it’s a constant requirement. We were driving along and suddenly I didn’t know where to go. I knew the area. I knew the places we were meant to be going at that point but I couldn’t make the choice myself. I needed him to do it. I needed Him to take over and make that choice for me not because I couldn’t myself. I needed the reassurance that where we were going was okay with Him.
I needed to be told I was doing okay.
Once I had been told where to go and parked the car, the realization I was feeling low set in. I was sad and I was tired.
Finally, an hour later something happened, forcing me to slow the fuck down – I trapped a nerve in my damn ass.