With a message to my best friend last night telling her I wished I was dead, I spent some time thinking about what it was that truly made me hate myself and not want to live. I have been neglecting my family, and I was confronted about it by my brother and my mother yesterday. It all just made me angry.
I don’t want to talk about what’s been going on with me for the last three weeks – that I had been let down by someone ~special~ for the second time, lied to and left to analyse the fact that every man that enters my life in a special way, exits it in an extremely hurtful manner.
My father, my two ex boyfriends who saw me as a fuck buddy, lied to me, ignored me and made me feel worthless and of course, my ~good~ friend that I had made at the beginning of this year who told me he saw me as a charity case. All of which leave to believe that I am an unlovable daughter, I am not worthy of affection or love, I am not worthy of the truth and I am so pathetic that any old Tom, Dick or Harry can see that within me and want to try and ~fix me~.
After all of this crashed down on me, I knew the happiest that I had ever been was when I was losing weight at at the end of last year. I was 100% focused, I had drive, ambition. My literature and my motivational TV shows pushed me that much more but it was as if I didn’t even need that extra push. As I proclaimed to my friend today “I will go to the gym today.” after not having gone yesterday, it made me realise – it’s not ABOUT admitting I won’t go to gym, I will go to gym – it’s not even an option. I am going.
Last year, the thought did not cross my mind to take the day off (besides Sunday). I went to work, I did my thing, I had time to write and read and be inspired and I took the bus to gym, end of discussion. I loved it, too. I had a great routine. Nothing could distract me then. I told myself I wouldn’t let a new male enter my life because I knew what that does to my emotions. Be it in friend form or otherwise, I accept any attention from men that I can get and I use that to determine how I feel about myself.
It’s just about that time where I accept that my ex has lied to me for a second time (He said he was going to Afghanistan, but he didn’t – you have to be quite sick to lie about that), accept the fact that I admitted my true and vulnerable feelings to him when thinking he was going off to war, and having him do or say nothing back, to accepting that I am the only one who can lose this weight. I am the only one who can control this aspect of my life.
It’s not a question anymore, I just have to do it because it makes me happy.