#i know i'll never be skinny but i wish i had an easier time fitting into clothes and also i wanna be really hot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

procrastinationmachine · 4 years

Text

In Retrospect and the Kid I Once Knew From My Childhood

I still remember my first independent walk to my Lolo's workplace which was perhaps a kilometer away from our home. I wasn't too proud about it. I was barely six years old and my Lola freaked out thinking I was kidnapped.

As a kid, I had put myself into some good amount of troubles because of my extreme curiosity and how easily I get bored. When I have raising questions inside my head, and it sparks the little devil inside of me, I'll make a way to get answers.

My brother was my favorite lab rat, because he's my only brother and the only kid near me. We were ,in a way, isolated. We live in a "looban", and the neighboring houses were far far away. Well, I remember this two kids who live just behind our land, but they weren't fit for my experiments, also I don't want to trouble them, or their parents, so I stick with my nearest resources.

One time, I wondered what molten plastic does to our skin, so I put just a bitsy cute little drop on his forearm when he was too preoccupied with toys. He cried. I was guilty. But I got my answers.

Sometimes when it's too inconvenient to con my brother into being my test subject no. 1, I would get the answers myself. From riding a bike down a hill, to see if height affects the speed of something, to pushing myself too hard on a swing to see what happens. It was my first taste of Physics. I was like Newton, only dumb and stupid.

But don't get me wrong. I wasn't all that trouble maker protegee wrapped inside a tanned skinny body, sporting apple cut hair. I was a brave kid, determined and unafraid to go out there and seek answers for my curiosity. I also have my manners right, I may be a little hard headed but I have my good sides.

My father always told me how independent I am as a kid. When we go on long walks, I walk by myself and hated being carried on his arms. Like what I said, I always have questions. Mostly about trucks, what's inside of them, and where they are heading.

I am very observant and open about my observations. I like going outdoors, I was confident and unafraid to tell people what I have in mind, I like being around people, I remember how I make little friends when we go somewhere, in McDonald's and their playground section, I don't remember their names but for a child it doesn't matter, as long as we get along, we play fun games and they don't put bubblegum on my hair.

But I guess, some things doesn't stay the way they are.

It started when I started school. From being a serial menace I diverted myself into miss goody goody who reads her books. I still play fun games, but they weren't as chaotic, though there was this time when my brother and I was engaged in a mud ball fight with the kids from the house across ours.

Kinder was alright. We were four in class, two of them vanished one by one on second and third grading, so we were down to two when the class ended. He was my best friend. I don't have any choice.

But my actual nightmare started on first grade. I was the new kid on the block. Alienated. I don't remember the first Waray word that I learned, but I was sure it was a curse word, people have this weird fascination of hearing a bad word from someone who is not used at speaking the language. It was a total shift, big school, we were about 20 in class and of course there are mean kids. I was in a total culture shock. I was bullied on my early years of elementary, first because I was flimsy so they pushed me and pulled my hair. Second because of the scars I have on my feet caused by my severe latex allergies. Then there's this insecure adults who can't accept their children as they are.

I also learned my very first big lesson on first grade, and that is anyone and everyone can take the form of a friend but not all of them are true, so I keep my guards up. It was also the first time I talked to God, and in my prayers I ask him to give my bullies a disease and that they die immediately. I know, for an seven year old, it was a bad prayer.

But I adopted to my environment. I learned my way into fighting bullies. Not physically, but by telling my parents about it and let them do the job, but I did punched someone in the face. He cried. I cried. It's a competition.

For like Grades five to six, I was ok. Of course there are still mean kids who just seem to vent their lack of love and nourishment to me, but I was stronger, at least during that phase of my life.

Little did I know, high school was much much more terrible.

Seveth grade, I was fine. I had my friends but the inevitable changes in me and in them made things fall apart at some point. And kids are way way more terrible. It was like a fast changing thing I can't keep up, or fit in. Maybe it was because of me. Maybe I wasn't really likeable, or I wear this imaginative Don't Get Near Me on my forehead. I don't know. I wasn't Miss Congeniality. But the way I see it I was nice, or am I?

Second grade I was totally friendless. They were on the other section and that time I wish every day is lunchbreak.

I did tried reaching out. Talked to people of the same interest, but there just a part of me that says I don't really belong. Then there's the very subtle bullying. Mean girls picking on my physical imperfections, smiling at my face then whispering mean words at my back. I was very observant, I can read people even in the most simple flick of their hand, and it has been both a gift and a curse. It was that time when I started having anxieties that stayed with me till now.

Then tenth grade blew me up. It was my lowest point. I totally lose the interest of going to school. I was emotionally unstable that I put myself into troubles and reacted impulsively on things. I never failed any subject but I never did great. Every afternoon I would go home, skip class because I feel comfortable at home. I would often excuse myself by saying my head hurts or that my I don't have the money to go back because it was easier to say than tell the real problem.

Things did changed during eleventh and twelfth grade but my anxieties, impulsive anger, impatience and my overall mental health drew people away from me.

But it wasn't that terrible though. In high school I was really good at writing and campus journalism. It was one part of myself that I don't have to go and doubt myself.

If there was one part of high school that I would relive, it would be the days I spent on Campus Journalism. Because it was the only part where my enthusiasm and determination did not changed.

It was that part of my past that I was confident, that I was open and was able to speak my thoughts out through the articles that I made. The part where I truly belonged.

Looking back, and writing this, I can clearly see how things- the bullying, the anxieties and insecurities affected the child I once knew. That kid from the "looban", who was unafraid to speak, to try things out, to show up with confidence , unafraid of people and trust them fully. That kid, whose confidence was mudded by all this things that happened to her. I missed her, honestly. So much. Is it weird to miss yourself. Your old self? Maybe. I don't know.

Now, I am 20 and can't even walk to the nearby store without thinking about what those glances from other people mean, or what is behind that warm smile people plaster on their faces. But I still have time. Have a future to look back to. Maybe it's time to kill my inner demons and save her form that dungeon somewhere inside of me.

1 note · View note

i-didnt-want-tulips · 5 years

Text

6 pounds in 9 days. It should be a miracle, but in my mind the dissatisfaction reigns over all other emotion like a hostile queen screaming at my brain to bring her "A more prominent collarbone! Skinnier ribs because meat is not on the menu for looking pretty in life!" If you make sure no one can tell unless you are dramatic about it, it flies right under their noses. Maybe I thought the confidence to wear tighter clothing would come, but I can tell you now that I would much rather wear those leggings that are starting to not fit quite right and a tshirt than worry about if my stomach is sticking out and going to the bathroom to check every hour. It's easy when everyone around you is so caught up in their own problems and lives that they won't notice a few more bones unless you point it out. And social events? A piece of cake I wish I could eat. Pushing food around gets lost in the conversation and its easier to say that you were focusing on your friends and being a good social person. Why eat when you can drink your fill of calories on the weekend and have your brain too mushy to even feel bad about it? And I know what everyone thinks. "Attention whore. You're so skinny so just shut the fuck up and eat because you'll never be fat. It's just a phase." No one ever thinks to ask, but everyone is too polite to do so and that's the way I prefer it. If it's just a phase then it's been a pretty God damn long phase. Imagine being a middle schooler and being told that your friends are skinnier than you. That would kickstart a "phase" in quite a few people. 7 years full of fluctuating numbers on the scale and doctor concerns and therapy sessions and self hatred burning so hot inside your gut it gives you a stomach ache just thinking about it. That's the kick I got. If I wanted the attention, then why on earth did I fly under the radar for 7 years of longing to be in someone else's skin? Maybe you see me a certain way, but that reflective piece of glass is a torturous mistress of deceit and mind control. I didn't ask for this sickening disease and yet I got stuck with it because unfortunately I haven't been punished enough by whoever's up there by just being given the gift of wanting to throw myself in front of a car some days when it gets bad and feeling an earthquake in my veins when I get overwhelmed. I never wanted to be this way, but the cost of recovery is far too much for me to ask, not including the money. A waste of all that time spent just to not get a license because I couldn't handle a little starvation. A waste of all that therapy time. The emotional strain on the people who raised me and have already had to put up with my struggles enough and will snap if I tell them. Now you tell me if it's really worth it. Maybe I get a little colder than the rest of the general population and maybe I'm a little bit weaker than the rest, but that's what sweaters and as many pushups as I can handle are for. Maybe no one loves a corpse, but dear lord haven't I been a corpse inside for all my life anyway? I'm not stupid enough to let myself get so skinny I'll snap, but it isn't a crime to want to lose a bit is it? It's not worth the worry because I don't want the worry from friends and family. The worry is like a burden and they have enough on their plates. The only reason I'm writing this down is because it's been ripping up my brain like pages in a journal except completely blank because unfortunately my brain doesn't carry a pen to unscramble the thoughts. Maybe I'm skin and bones, but god I want to be pretty and ethereal and delicate but with a dedication I've never had before. I'm fine, it's fine, I'll be fine.

0 notes