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@yellowhallo
Diary of a fat Ana.
I just lost 10kg and I'm still fat.
No thigh gap.
Still wearing an a XL jeans.
Still obese.
But you know what, I will never give up.
One day, I will post my own picture as motivation on Tumblr.
Watch me, world.
Watch motherfucking me.
HALA ALYAN
‘You’re Not a Girl in a Movie’, The Twenty-Ninth Year (2019);
original photos and edit
SYLVIA PLATH
from a letter to Hans-Joachim Neupert circa November 1951;
original photos and edit
My depression - a metaphor
Imagine a room. White walls and a black floor. It’s empty. No windows, no doors, no decorations. It’s cold inside. It is so cold what when you enter your bones shake, but as you spend more time in it you start to like the cold. And in rare moments when you are not in the room you feel like the warmth is bothering you, you miss that deadly cold. In that room no body can hear you no matter how loud you scream. There is no one to save you, to get you out of there, to help you. And here I am, collapsed on the dark cold marble floor, like a stray animal. Unwanted and misunderstood. I look around. The walls, oh my god these walls kept me imprisoned for years. And I do not have the power to stand up, to break free. My soul hurts, my body aches and my heart is just empty. I’ve tried to break out of the room, to feel something, to be happy, but the walls are too strong. They leave scars and cuts and something even if you break off a little piece and see the outside, the room consumes you. The walls grow taller, thicker and become sharper to touch. I am tired. So tired. I am not trying anymore. Not trying to exit. The room is stronger than me. So I just lay there. Forgotten. Broken.
Two more years.
I remember telling few of my close friends and family about my plan on ending my life at the age of 30. They laughed. They thought I was joking. I laughed too. But it was never a joke. I'm turning 28 this coming December. Two more years.
—Not everything gets better.
One of the worst parts of having mental health issues is that you’re seemingly required to have a breakdown in order for people to understand how hard you were trying to hold yourself together.
It just leaves and suddenly I feel empty
I’m sorry for having depression.
I’m sorry for being fat.
I’m sorry for being that useless daughter.
I’m sorry that I’m not pretty.
I’m sorry for having suicidal thoughts.
I’m sorry for being me.
I’m so sorry.
Sorry.
Failure failure failure failure.
How do I explain to someone that living is hard? that waking up in the morning is hard? that breathing is hard and eating is hard and not killing myself is hard. I hold on to only one thing that i’m good at - getting good grades. Thats the indication of success, right? That’s how people know you are worth something, right?
And then even this is not enough. I get lectured. I get lectured by a best friend. “I don’t see why you are not doing anything? Get a part-time job, an internship, do something! Otherwise you are nothing, look at all those people better than you. You have potential but you don’t DO anything. You are going to end up a failure.”
Failure failure failure failure.
The words that stick in my head. The words I tell myself every single day. Not pretty enough to deserve love, not skinny enough to have an eating disorder, not smart enough, not enough not enough not enough not enough.
But how do I say that yours ‘not doing anything’ is draining all my energy. Fighting my demons is exhausting, always counting calories is exhausting, thinking of the scale next morning is exhausting, not cutting myself is exhausting, lot letting the voices in my head to get too loud is exhausting. I guess I just fail at life. But yours ‘doing nothing, just living’ is so fucking hard.
I always have good grades because I find studying to be a distraction from my demons. I have to shush them every now and then while it looks like i’m just reading a textbook.
And then “you just study. you don’t do anything. you are nobody. do something. look at people doing it, why don’t you do it?”
I wish I was those people, for whom going through the day is not a job on it’s own. Who never had a thought of turning their skin red by gliding a metal razor across it. Who don’t have their death date planned for already so many years.
But, as you take away the last thing i hold on to to pretend i can be a part of society, all thats left is a failure.
Failure failure failure failure.
