Botched Up Bodies…

I have always hated my breasts. They have always been large in size but the bigger the natural breast, the less kind gravity can be. That is a fact. I have always blamed my mother for encouraging me to sleep without a bra on as a teenager, whilst developing. Truth be told, I doubt that notion made to much difference, but it is easier to blame your mum then an anonymous God or fate!
I have always said, that if I win the lottery or come into money, I will be straight down the plastic surgeon’s. Boob uplift, liposuction, laser cellulite remover, the list goes on, the whole shebang! People say just exercise more or eat less. People say an awful lot! The reality is, I can honestly say that all of my ailments are not self inflicted. I do exercise. I eat rather well. Looking back at my pictures in my twenties, I looked fabulous, but even then I was body conscious. People have always picked on me for my weight, even as a child. Those voices are never silenced and will haunt me to the day I die. My issues are not just physical but mental because of being traumatised by criticism about my shape, size, appearance, looks, being dumped by partners or nagged by family members. I never got to truly and confidently enjoy my size when it was rather good. I used to have a natural four pack! I doubt that is ever coming back. One can wish, but actually, I would rather four kids.
Age has of cause played it’s part, like it does upon everyone else, but also depression has ignited comfort eating in the past, I used to sleep eat, sleep walk to the cupboards, snack and wake up feeling sick from poorly digested food and crumbs in my bed. Thank goodness that stopped, but now with BPD, depression, anxiety, psychosis, I have to take an awful lot of medication to steady my mood and weight gain is a side effect.
It is no secret that I self harm. I believe this makes me a little less screamish then most, but watching the inspiring weight dropper Josie Gibson under the knife on celebrities botched up bodies, the surgery really made me feel sick. Josie was asleep through all of it and woke up looking great but I am now in two minds. Not like I can afford surgery anyway but it has definitely opened my eyes to the seriousness of cosmetic surgery. Surgery is surgery and always life threatening.
I suppose that if I was fortunate enough to truly make a decision, under the knife or not under the knife, I am single and thirty-two with suicidal tendencies, if I am going to die, I wouldn’t mind dying whilst trying to look hot. I would wake up hot or wake up not. Chances are, it would be the first, then maybe I could find a man to love me, in this cruel, judgemental and shallow world that we live in. Most importantly, after thirty-two years of failing, maybe, just maybe, I could learn to love myself. I have a lot of love for everyone else but have never loved myself. If nothing else, it would be great to embrace that feeling.

No Picture’s Please!

When you look into the mirror,
What do you see?
When you look at a photograph of yourself,
What do you see?
When you take a selfie,
What do you see?
Beauty?
Potential?
Are you happy to let these picture roam free,
Travelling from the camera,
To a photo album,
Or on the internet for all to see,
Instagram,
Facebook,
Filter,
Tag,
Transported to a world of technology,
Where it will stay for eternity,
Become part of your history.
Bad angle?
Swipe and delete,
Rip it up,
Scratch it out,
Deny the tag,
Erase it,
Burn it.
Do you care what other people see?
Does analysing how you look equate to vanity?
Is worrying about it a profanity?
You may see something in me that I don’t see,
My personality may disguise it,
But I don’t want you to look at me,
Out of fear that you may see what I see,
And like me,
Have it etched into your memory for eternity.
You need not discuss,
Comment,
Insinuate,
Mock,
Or ridicule me,
By saying that when you look at me,
You see beauty!
I know what I am,
And beautiful I am not.
When I look in the mirror,
See your photographs of me,
Take a selfie,
I see blurred lines,
Mismatched shapes,
Flaws,
Dents,
Blemishes,
Fat,
That amalgamates into a vision of ugliness and nightmare’s,
Leaving a taste of bitterness.
I hate myself.
I must confess.
To top all of my personal insecurities,
We live in a world where self image is priceless,
And that makes me feel even more worthless.
Beauty is within the eye’s of the beholder,
I have eye’s,
But see no beauty.
Be it a curse,
Or bad luck,
This card was dealt to me,
I don’t ask for your sympathy,
Just please,
Don’t take pictures of me.

The Beautiful Me…

I visualise,
And hypnotise,
What appears before your very eyes,
I think thin,
I think slim,
And project that image before you,
Wide eyes,
A full smile,
Complimented with an open heart,
I focus on projecting beauty.
Under my spell,
And mesmerised,
You see what I want you to see,
Believe what I want you to see,
The only one not fooled is me.
I witness my reflection that bounces from your eyes,
Yet the person that I see,
I do not recognise.
I’m sorry for all of the deceit and lies,
And I wish that the fa├žade was true,
More then you could ever realise,
Perhaps one day you will see the real me,
Or I can become,
“The beautiful me”
That you see.