Some days like today I feel like a hypocrite. I try to help people concur their fears while I’m stuck with my fears and I’m scared of therapy. Fat, out of shape, obese, ugly, useless, mistake. These were just but a few of what they used while referring to me. And I believed them.
Growing up, I was bullied into believing I was worthless; that I had no purpose in life. Those words became my gospel and I had no way out. Being an introvert did not help either, because every time I sat down in my favorite corner in the storeroom, I could remember what they had said. Each day I cried myself to sleep.I wanted it all to end and as days went by, the pain grew.
I drowned myself in calculations and books, but my demons were way too strong for me. So I did the only thing that I thought was good for me. The only possible way out for me. I self-harmed. Sharp objects became my favorite tools and my blood became the ink I’d use to color my skin.
After all, I was always the first in the bathroom. Not even mama knew what I did. This pain was sweeter than the pain I was subjected to every day and I got addicted to it as time went by. Day by day my creamy skin became darker and spotty. It matched my plump self and I loved it. This was a consolation for me since I did not have to work hard to convince my brain that I was not ugly. It was my solace.
They noticed the changes and branded me careless. I was tired of being pushed around but I had no way to retaliate. I drowned myself in food, that way I’d make it easier for them and myself. I became everything they had called me and somehow I was content, until I got sick. I could not tell mama anything, I’m not sure if she would have paid any attention then, given we were four kids already. I swore myself into being anti-mirrors and photos, because it was one thing to be called names and another to have to watch them be right. I swore against a whole lot of things.
Today I walk the streets and see people in shells. I watch people survive and wipe tears claiming that they got dust in their eyes. I see people with a lot of pain in their eyes, I watch them struggle to hide behind masks. I can only wish that they find solutions as soon as possible.
I hide behind my pen and ink, despite knowing the world out here wishes to know who their favorite writer is. But how can I, when the mere thought of photos is scary, when my gallery is filled with people’s photos, when I’m photophobic and anti-mirror. Someone would think that knowing what is wrong with you gives you the idea of the solution, but sometimes its not. The fear doesn’t just go away. The pain just doesn’t go away, maybe it will, someday. I tell that to myself every morning.
Someday I will look at myself in a photo without the desire to clear the whole gallery. Someday.
Months and years have passed since my colorful phase of life, but not much changed. Well something did change. I forced myself into being an ambivert, my only successful way of surviving. I was the extrovert by day and introvert by night. Also I got to know different people, and learnt that not everyone was full of spite. Gradually I stopped self-harming but sadly mirrors and photos became my greatest fears. Even then I made another promise, to never let anyone go through what I did, not if I could help them. So I study them keenly for any signs of what I had. I read books, a lot of books to know how to cope with different psychological conditions. I know I will be free from my fears someday but until then all I gotta tell you is that hating yourself is the worst thing that could happen to anyone. I can attest to that.
This article was written by Elizabeth Josephine. That’s her story. What would you tell her?
Let her know by leaving a comment.
Have a blessed day 💕 and don’t forget to LOVE YOURSELF, just the way you are.