I have a very difficult confession to make. At least, to me, it is difficult.
How can I expect the closest to perfection in a love interest, when I am far from it myself?
I have passed the stages of discovery, the stages of grief and self-doubt, and even merely the acceptance of what I do to myself; the self manipulation that leaves me ugly and freakish in the mirror of society.
I am exhausted. I am tired. My arms and fingers are sore from doing something I do not want to do. My shoulders and neck are tense and knotted, a result from the tension from pulling for such long periods of time.
I am exhausted. I am tired from this mundane task that leaves me feeling like i've overslept for days.
Yet I sit here, thinking about how unattracted I am to a love interest who has gained weight, when maybe I simply cannot understand that perhaps they eat like I pull. Maybe food is their outlet, yet I sit and judge them when I should not. I want a beautiful person by my side, when I can't even reciprocate that little. And as I continue to confess with lashes between my fingernails, I wonder if one day I will be able to justify my personal tastes.
It seems I should tolerate so much from someone because they would have to tolerate my ugliness. I cannot be picky, even though I am, because I won't meet the criteria of what they want. And if I can't be beautiful, then I can't have beautiful.
And if one day it should so happen that I find intimacy and love, I would be too scared to ruin it with the hideousness of bald eyes. It's crazy to think how something as small and few as eyelashes can disfigure my face until I am unrecognizable. Does beauty really lie in so little?
I hate to confess to myself that I am breaking. I have been so strong for so long, and now I don't understand why i'm crumbling.
The worst part of it is this: I know I need help, I want to get help, but I just cant. Break. This wall in front of me. And my knuckles are sore from punching it.
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