Warning: this blog post brings a dark cloud of doubt, personal ramblings and pure boo-hoo-ness of self pity. Written only for the purpose of ranting and to prevent explosion of head.
You wouldn't understand what it feels like, unless you're in the same boat. And let's be honest, no one that I know has the same problem. It doesn't bother me that people point it out, it's the way they say it. I'm getting tired of hearing the question, "What's wrong with your face?" It's even harder trying to answer without bursting into tears, swearing, or walking away. It's the way I'm looked at, with such disgust, which cuts me up so much more and leaves a scar deeper than the ones left behind on my skin. Yes, it may seem a little ironic that I like to document memories by camwhoring with my friends, and that I litter this blog with seemingly narcissistic photos of myself.
But I can promise you, that isn't the way it is at all. There is no narcissism happening here, and if you're thinking that way, then you obviously don't know me. It doesn't help that I'm also fat. I'm sorry that you had to read all that, and for filling your heads with sadness instead of the wholesome goodness and warm fuzzy feelings that cookbooks filled with photos of home baked goods, pink fluffy marshmallows, calorie laden cheesy pizzas, Glee, cosy pyjamas, and heartfelt hand-written cards bring.
But that's the reality. I won't put myself in denial. That's just silly. Expect a happier post with less word vomit tomorrow. :O)
Now playing: Motion City Soundtrack - Hysteria.
And everything seems to repeat in a cylical pattern
I hum myself to misery and wish these words against my pillow
I will try not to lose control
Hysteria, hysteria, it's happening again
I fall apart, I fall apart, I'm back where I began.
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