When The Fat Girl’s Still Fat


What’s this post about?

Well. I don’t wanna eat anymore. It’s like I just want to stop and see how much weight I can lose, and then start eating again. I’ll start working out and be healthier. But how do I start? I’m scared of the hunger pains. They suck. They make me want to vomit. So what do I do? I’ll do it anyway. Starting tomorrow. Just an apple three times a day. That’s easy right? I’ll still be consuming something, but it’ll only have the 40 count.

I’ll get a gym membership!

No. Wait. You can’t exercise. You’re too fat and everyone will watch you. They’ll watch you fail from the extra weight on your body. What’s the point? Why bother? You’ll just sleep through it anyways. You always sleep. So what’s the fucking point of trying?

If I’m sleeping, I won’t have to eat.

But I cannot stop eating. I do not control my own hands.


Girl Code.

Always the fat girl.

Never the sick girl.

Always eating too much.

Never worrying.

Always worrying.

Never counting.

Always counting.

Never eating.

Always eating to little.

Never consuming.

Always hydrated.

Always the fat girl.

Never the sick girl.

Always the happy one.

Never the sad one.

Always the anxious one.

Never the happy one.

Always analyzing.

Never thinking.

Always thinking.

Always the fat girl.

Never the sick girl.

Always undetected.

Never noticed.

Always doubted.

Never understood.

Always emotional.

Never enough.

Always annoying.

Never fun.

Always alone.

Never welcome.

Always laughing.

Never funny.

Always the fat girl.

Never the sick girl.

Always ignored.

Never acknowledged.

Always nothing.

Never something.

Never the fat girl.

Always the sick girl.

And Now For The Second

So by now you must know that the second season of “13 Reasons Why” has become available on Netflix. You’ve probably already binge watched it, or are in the midst of watching it. I have, and it’s brought me back to before.

I know that so many people disliked the show in the first place. I know that they thought it was bad acting and a bad plot overall. I guess I must think differently. I thought it was brilliant because it felt like I had an understanding about how I felt. And although it is just a show and just a book, I felt like someone heard my cries.

Did this show trigger something?

Yes. It’s upsetting. But it did. It triggered a lot of pain that I’ve felt in the past. I knew that something like this could bring up some issues, but I still couldn’t resist watching. The tears that every character shed, I could relate to. The sadness death brings up no matter the reason is devastating to anybody. You know I’ve suffered in my own mind before. I know I can ask for help if I need it. The show didn’t scare me from doing that. It just makes my heart hurt. It makes me feel uneasy. My anxiety makes an appearance to shake me from the images I’ve seen.

You can try and say that I shouldn’t be feeling this way as it’s just a show and just a book, but it’s a million different things for millions of people. Being honest though, I should have taken the warnings more seriously. I wasn’t okay for weeks after watching the first season. I was confused and hurt, and just completely empty. We like to pretend that this doesn’t happen, and that there is more help out there then we would ever know. But no one is prepared to know the truth. It happens everywhere and it happens every day. Some people just don’t care, or they pretend that it’s just a bug going around, and the victim is okay. People have tried to tell me that it’s something that maybe I’ve set off in my mind, or I’m watching too much t.v, or playing too many video games, or not getting enough sleep. No. There’s actually something going on and we need to help. Why isn’t it simple enough to say “okay, I’m here to help, so let me help you.” That’s enough. We need support.

Why did I use the term “victim”? That’s what we are. Mental health is being a victim of yourself. You’re trapped in the cells of your thoughts and you’ve got a life sentence. Medication is bail, but you’ve still got to pay the fine to completely set yourself free, but no one has enough money for that, so you remain in cuffs.

It’s hard to talk to other people that may deal with similar issues. It’s all almost like a competition of who is the most unsteady. Who takes the higher dosage of medication. Who’s cried the most. Why? Why are we like this towards each other?

Why haven’t workplaces been addressed to help people that have watched these shows? Yes there are resources, but none that are actually in reach. When you talk to a boss they remain frozen and stunned from the lack of information they have, and then they deem you “unable to handle stress”. That’s what they think you are; stressed. Yeah, we might be, but there’s so much more going on. Stress can be taken away and cured. There is no cure for us.

This isn’t a reach out from me. I’m sort of okay right now. I may need a little while to clear my mind to assure I can move on. And yes, if there is another season, I’m probably going to watch it, and feel the same way directly after. So, just be careful how you post things about this show because who knows how someone is replaying it in their mind. I know that I’m going to ask questions and make sure others are okay because my empathy is stronger than my will.

I’m okay. We’re all okay, even if we aren’t. ❤

Fuck You Very Much

You know, I see you. I hear you. I know you’re there. I can feel the shards of judgement stabbing into my pale skin. I know the hate pulsing out of your mind. Why do you hate me? Is it because I stopped responding to your text messages? Is it because I wouldn’t snap you back? Is it because I didn’t want to go and see a movie? Is it because I didn’t want to talk about what you want? Is it because I didn’t want to go for dinner? Is it all of the above?

Did you know, that when you asked me to hang out, I was so exhausted from my racing mind that I all I had energy to do was sit in silence? You asked, and I didn’t answer because I didn’t think that I was good enough to answer. I didn’t answer because you never asked how I was. You never asked if I was okay. I always asked if you were. You never picked up on the habits I was forming. It’s like I was turning into what you wanted to talk to.

I’m so fucking sick of it. I’m sick of feeling like I’m in trouble for wanting to stay home. Why do I need to give constant interaction and communication just to have a relationship with you. You’ve made life choices that I had to smile and nod at, but my life choices have to be criticized because I wasn’t with you when they happened. How is that fair? When I say I had a horrible day, you just finish it off with a “oh I’ve had days like that” and then that’s it. You don’t take a step back and realize how much I’m suffering.

You’re so incredibly toxic in my life. You poisoned me.

“We’ll get together when you’re better.” That’s where your stupidity really shines. There’s no getting better. There’s coping, and dealing with what you’ve been giving. I’ll never change, this is part of who I am. It’s not all of me, but it’s a part of me. You can either accept that, or leave my life. I can’t sit and wait for you to acknowledge me. It’s  pointless.

You’re not what I call a friend.

So You Said That I Was Done

It’s like, endless whispers in you ears. Piercing your eardrums every second. Causing your heart to skip, and freezing your brain. That’s what it feels like. Every single second.

Every second is filled with racing cars on a highway. Crowded and fast paced. Crazy and uncontrollable. Why?

Wouldn’t we all love an answer. “Too bad”, the brain says.
It tells me to suffer. It tells me to cry enough to fill the parched rivers. Let the flowers grow with you waterfalls. Let the storms brew with your ecstatic breath. And lay beneath the dirt in your nice warm bed and look at what you’ve created. A deathly masterpiece. You’re done. Just a museum now.

It’s a freak show.

I avoid the drugs. I’ll make my own if it solves my problems.

Doc, these don’t help. Doc, these make it worse. Doc, you’ve froze me. Doc, fix me.

My depression will fix me. My anxiety will soothe me.

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

I think I’m going to just lay here and stare into the blank canvas that is the dark. It consumes my whole room, but i’m not scared. I should be; scared of the unknown. Or is it known, but just not to me.

Here I am having a shitty night, like the many shitty nights I’ve had before. Try rethinking, try taking a breath, try to relax, try to evaluate things in a different way. Where did this come from? Where did this fucking come from? The tidal wave hit me and drowned me. My skeleton is all I have left.

Where did this come from?
Why did the wave hit? Why did the wave hit me? I can’t swim, I can’t breathe.
I thought if I revoked the nutrients I would be able to float. But here I am. Losing energy as I reach for the surface.

It’s dark.

And I’m back in my room. Cringing for a flashlight. I take a breath. It’s not enough.

It’s never enough to survive this. How can I survive the feeling I have when I can stay up all night? When I can brag to my friends that I didn’t sleep? But I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t watching Netflix. I was crying. How can I brag to my friends that I was up all night crying about nothing. What’s to brag about? Each time I can’t handle it, do I brag? Is that how I get the attention I secretly don’t crave? How do I get their attention if I die when I get it? If depression had a manual, don’t you think I would have read it? Trust me I’ve googled it. It’s not real. It’s not a reality that is reality. It’s not real. It’s like dancing point for the first time and your ankle snaps. Everything is over. You’re done. That’s all you get.

Nice try. I almost lost you there. You’re worried now aren’t you? I’m going deeper and deeper. But look honey, I’m already there. There is no more deeper to go, but somehow the hole keeps going down. We’re running out of breath.

How can I impress you? How can I prove that I am enough? That’s it though? There is no proof to give because I am not human, I am not proof worthy. I am worthless.

My eyes are closing. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. But I will not sleep. I can’t.