Sometimes shame and failure intimidate us and stop us from our greatest achievements. It's true. Sometimes risk of failure is worse than actually attempting something, and that's what I've felt recently. But who am I to explain these complicated life ponders? My mere 20 years are nothing short of sheltered and pampered. I guess it finally dawned on me that I am 20 years old, and for the past 20 years I have wanted to be this age. Well, now I am 20, and I have no idea why I wanted to be this age in the first place.
So, dear blog, I write to you because I initially started my anonymous twitter BECAUSE I wanted an outlet that I could release my energy on, and writing Dear Diary is so cliche.
Lately, with summer approaching I've been thinking about the correlation of my happiness with my thigh gap. If you've been a reader for more than a year, you would know what I'm referring to. If you have just joined my life documentation recently - I've struggled with an eating disorder for as long as I can remember. I don't want to go into specifics, but I finally overcame this last summer. Yet, ANYONE who deals with this issue knows that the disorder, or perhaps, "disease", can never be clearly wiped out.
Bikini season is about to roll around and the pressure to look perfect is pretty much at the ultimate. I always catch myself trying to cut this out, or try this, or do that, just to try to lose a couple pounds.. and I'm already underweight. Why is this not enough? Why must I always want more out of anything I do? Why does my thigh gap or chest bones have to define who I am? Why does my arm have to be skinny as a stick? I just don't understand why I must give up the delicious joy of eating food in order to be able to fit a stereotype in this industry. It's not even the industry, it's SOCIETY. I AM SOCIETYGRL, and I am a product of society. My name could not be any more accurate..
I have realized that beauty and "skinny" comes from within. It's ALL in my head. My critiques of myself are not always reality and I need to accept that. Sometimes logic isn't my friend, and I'm still sometimes a slave to society.
I just want to love the only body I've been given. And eat chocolate (sometimes).