Kels @kellssssiiiee - Tumblr Blog

Thoughts; emotional

Things I hate about myself

How fat my face is

My broad body

My ugly teeth

My hair is lifeless

I have fat hands

I have a lazy eye

I have weird rolls

My thighs are big and it makes me look stubby

I hate hating my body

Why can’t I love my body? There’s far worse, but one roll over my two piece Bikini and I want a sweatshirt in 90 degree weather? Why? Why am in my early twenties trying to cover up? I know I was raised to be skinny and I see it on social media and I know everyone has a type I’m very informed on the subject but yet I still am insecure. But yet I still hate? How. Is it trauma? Is it body dysmorphia? Is it just flat out insecurity. Is it all the harsh words built up I’ll never forget? There’s a time that comes to mind that I will never forget it was a growing moment, I was in the 5th grade. only the first couples days of school in, when I was sitting in English class and a boy, Kasey says my name and when I look up at him he looks me in the eye and screams “ahh ugly.” And pointed at me and all the other kids of course laughed it was 5th grade, if I remember correctly I actually laughed along as well. I’ve always been a laugh it off now type of person. But this is what I mean what trauma could I blame? Or do I blame any at all! It’s so confusing to hate everything but be so desperate to love it, to want so badly but to never quite get it.

everythingfox

Gasps and Silences // Karen Cantú

onlinecounsellingcollege

“That’s how you can tell that you’re filling yourself with the wrong things. You use a lot of energy, and in the end, you feel emptier and than ever.”

— Glennon Doyle Melton

Albert Camus

You are mythology. The way you hold the world on your shoulders is Atlas. Embracing the darkness despite the pain it gave you is Persephone. Thinking lonely is the thing you may be doomed to is Hades. Hoping they will call but knowing they won't is Hera. Broken dreams and shooting stars in your eyes is Asteria. But that rising from it all every day and fighting yet again? That's all Artemis. You carry them all in the poetry of your body. You know that in your bones.

- Nikita Gill, You are Mythology

alhwrites

I wonder what kind of girl I would be if the patriarchy didn’t exist. If gender roles and stereotypes didn’t stain my entire being. If I didn’t suffer at the hands of misogyny that molded the clay that was me. I wonder what I would do, what I would say, what I would like, what I would crave, what I would be. The likelihood of us being anything close to similar seems slim considering how many things could be different. I just wonder what type of woman I would be if I hadn’t been told from the day I was born how and who I should become. Would I still enjoy wearing makeup if I hadn’t been conditioned to feel better about myself with it on? Would my favorite color still be orange if pink hadn’t been forced on me and I didn’t care to make a point of rejecting it? Would I stand up for myself more if I hadn’t been taught to cater to the comfort of others before prioritizing my own? Would my natural instinct still be to feel wary of those around me if abuse and harassment and assault were not normalized in our society? Would I still want long hair if I hadn't been brainwashed into believing that my beauty is rooted in being feminine, and that my value is rooted in being beautiful? Would I be the same? How much, or how little, would that impossible girl resemble me as I am now? And are my interests and passions genuine—truly mine—or can they all be linked to some expectation to accommodate, some predetermined role to serve, some juxtaposing desire to please a system I don’t even like. Do I actually love video games as much as I think I do, or do I only like them because I think it makes me appear cooler to men? Do I actually want to get married as much as I think I do, or do I only want to because historically that was where the female fit in? Do I actually find solace in journaling as much as I think I do, or do I only find solace in it because it is the only time I can share my traumatic experiences without being called a crazy attention seeker? There is so much I wonder about, which parts of me are real and which have been tinkered with. Which is just pure me, and which is because of something else. A factor of the patriarch. Of course I’ll never know, but that truth does not keep me from being curious about the girl who does not suffer from the wrath of an internalized male gaze and the burden of internalized misogyny. I bet she is lovely—free of the shackles—and I hope she feels at peace.

— alhwrites

quotemadness

“Human relationships are strange. I mean, you are with one person a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together, and then it stops.”

— Charles Bukowski