I just want to be told I am beautiful.
I want to hear that your heart still skips a beat when you see me.
I want to know that you love me.
That you will love me.
Until the end of time.
I just want to know that I am important.
That my life has meaning.
I want to know that my words have meaning.
That my art matters.
That my feelings matter.
I just want to know what it is like to feel special.
I want to feel beautiful.
Not that my hips are too fat. My boobs to large. My thighs too big. My hair too curly. My eyes hidden behind my glasses. My bushy eyebrows. My chipped nail polish. My bitten to the bone finger nails.
I don’t want to hear how I am crazy. A butt. Annoying. A pain. A nerd. A loser. A geek.
I hear that everyday.
I hear them snicker at me. At my height. At my glasses. At my car. At my hair. At my ripped shoes.
I hear it everyday.
You are fat. I hate your hair color. Your feet are too big. Your arms are getting flabby.
I hear it from myself.
I hear it from them.
You are a disappointment. A failure. Miserable. You are not happy. You need to eat better.
Why can’t I hear different?
Why won’t anyone tell me so…
I just want to know that I can be beautiful.
That I am beautiful.
I got my old job as a caregiver back two days a week from 8am-8pm. It is my first day alone with Mrs.Barnes. She is 100 years old and even though she just lays in bed all day, she eats well and seems content. But I am exhausted from lifting her and from changing her diapers. In other news, I still feel very depressed. I am very much dead inside and I am having difficulty mustering the strength to smile. I keep it on when someone walks in, but for the most part, my affect is blank. I should probably see someone. Therapy or something. Especially since I am self diagnosing and such. Oh well. Back to waiting for the old lady to wake so I can feed her lunch. I am quite bored and some messages would be nice. Everyone, have a good day.