Insecurities

Have you ever looked in the mirror and hated.. Genuinely hated the person looking back at you? I have.
The fat rolls, the freckles, the eyes that are the wrong color, the hair that is either too long or too short its the wrong color or it's frizzy or too curly or too straight, you're all around too tall or too short, the hair you wonder if you should shave off, and your skin it's the wrong color you're too light or too dark.
Have you ever looked at food and hated yourself for wanting it? I have.
Have you heard that mean little voice in the back of your head as you're about to take a bite "You're such a cow. Go on eat a little more you fatty!" I have.
I dread the days I have to look in a mirror and make myself presentable because it means I have to see the person I hate most. Myself.
I admit to having an eating disorder. It's a mix of anorexia, bulimia, and pika. I don't eat and when I do I binge or I eat non food items like spices I know will go right through me.
I'm tall, fat, covered in freckles, my hair is choppy and wavy, my nails are too short, I have pigment problems I feel I'm too pasty, all of that together makes me hate myself so much.
Being that I hate looking in the mirror and being in this body I hurt it on purpose. Burning, cutting really anything I can do to inflict the pain I deserve for doing this to myself. When I was little I picked scabs to make myself bleed. Now I realize it was to feel the sting of the pain.
Even as a child I remember looking at my sister and seeing how beautiful she was and knowing I'd never look half as beautiful as she is.
I remember playing with my friends where we'd pretend to be Spice Girls and tuck our shirts into our collars to show off our stomachs. That was when I came to hate my body. They had flat stomachs and me I had a belly. I was taller than them and fatter than them and I hated it.
My body is my prison. I hate it but I'm stuck in it. And every day I see girls who are skinny and pretty with a flat stomach and I WISH I was them so I could love myself even a little bit. I see clothes I wish I could wear but convince myself I don't have the body for it. I haven't worn shorts in public since I was 14 because I have thunder thighs.
I look at myself in the mirror and its a struggle not to punch the fat ugly girl glaring back at me all teary eyed.
I avoid eating when I can. I can't stand the thought of gaining any more weight. I'm 250 now. What would happen if I got bigger? I don't deserve to eat. I'm not good enough for food.
So I slash painful red lines down my wrists and burn my flesh with a lighter to make myself feel the pain I deserve to feel for what I have done to myself. I hide in my clothes in baggy sweats and sweaters trying to hide my shameful body.
And I know that this is what the world has done to me. "Be a size two, have the perfect breasts, have long luxurious hair, the perfect tan with no lines, and never leave the house without makeup, the right outfit, and heals". They have broken me with the ideal beauty. I am the average woman. And yet I hate myself for not being the 0.0025% of women who actually fit the ideals of this country.
I hate my chest for being DDD and my ass for having shelf like qualities. I hate my hair for being brown and my eyes for not being brown. I hate my skin for being so white and covered from head to toe in freckles. I hate my dimples I inherited from my grandfather. I hate my teeth and my smile. I hate my toes for looking like those little hotdog things. I have my back folds and my stomach and my cottage cheese legs. I hate everything about who I am. Everything that makes me ME.
I look at myself and want to change everything about me so bad and I hate that I can't make the weight fall off and my hair the right color or go out in the sun without turning Lobster Red. I hate that nothing will ever make me happy with myself. I've always felt like this and I always will because I'm not my beautiful sister or the perfect girl on TV or in the magazine. I'm flawed perfectly imperfect me and I hate that so fucking much.
I am eating regularly now. I hardly binge too. I work out regularly. And I've made it two weeks without burning or cutting but honestly I'm feeling the need to right now. To drag a razor down my wrists and watch the blood flow onto my rag. Tonight I hated myself for eating my dinner. I didn't over eat I ate exactly enough so that I wasn't hungry and yet that voice in my head told me it was too much.
Life is a struggle and these thought in my head are and addiction and I will always need help from others to hold on.