The Pursuit of Something

The pursuit of truth..

What do I want to know? What am I searching for? I’m searching for the truth, yet I have no idea what questions should I be asking.  If you could ask anything to anyone one time and the answer could only be honesty, what would you ask?

I would ask myself, if I actually loved myself.

Maybe that sounds ridiculous. You’d think that I would actually know how I felt about myself but, all I do is lie. I lie to my friends, I lie to my parents, and most of all I lie to myself. Well, I avoid telling myself the truth. But in essence, it’s the same. I bury myself in other people’s lives, in a television show, in an anger I have with others. But never myself. I can’t look at myself. I can’t keep eye-contact with myself when looking in the mirror. Yeah, I’ll stand in front of the mirror and apply make-up for awhile. But I won’t really look at myself.

Moment of honesty. I hate everything about myself. I do not like what I see. I could say I feel ugly, but that word is so vague and does not suffice. I hate my “chinky” eyes and the fact that I have a mono-lid. I hate my acne filled puffy cheeks. My oddly shaped face that’s resembles a potato. I despise the faint double chin that makes it look like I have no neck. I am thoroughly disgusted with my flabby arms, thick squishy thighs, and most off all my bulging stomach. I am horrified when I look at myself. But when I look at others with the same build as me, I can see their beauty. But not mine. Why doesn’t my disgust push me into an athletic frenzy? Why haven’t I become a diet enthusiast?  Rather the numbers on the scale rise.

I act as though everything is alright. As though I look alright. But the pants that I just bought seem to be tighter. My favorite shirt is now my worst enemy. Nothing I put on looks right. And it’s frustrating. I know I should be going out for a run or at least a walk every morning, but I don’t. Why? It’s embarrassing going out and trying to be fit. I feel like I’ll never be satisfied, or the results are coming as fast as they should.

Why do guys pursue me? Oh that’s an easy on. Ha. It’s ’cause they think I am easy. And I feel easy. I feel as useful and as temporary as a tissue. No I don’t sleep around, but I might as well have. That’s what a lot of people think I do anyways. Yes, sex is fun. Were are sexual beings, so if I choose to sleep around that should be my choice. But I haven’t.

I go on and on saying how I don’t want a boyfriend and this year I am probably going to sleep around and have fun and yeah I probably will. Because, right now, that’s all I deserve. It’s all I can handle. I’m not prepared to fall in love with someone who doesn’t care about me. And no one will care about me until I care about myself. Sure, maybe someone will but so long as I hate myself, I will convince myself that no one cares. And I will carry myself like a person who doesn’t need to be cared for.

Now that’s the truth.

Maybe somewhere deep down I do love myself. Maybe that’s why suicide attempt number two hasn’t happened. Or maybe I love other people so much that I know if I failed killing myself again it would cause so much heartbreak. I don’t know. I can’t imagine trying to force death onto myself again. Is it because I really want to live, become a teacher, fall in love, have kids and grand-kids and be something? Is it because I’m afraid that if I try, I will ultimately fail again.

Rebellious One.