A Diary From Noone

She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper...

Tag: #body

Kween Like Lizzo…

Wish I could be a kween like Lizzo,
Looking fly,
Throwing shapes at the disco.
Instead I am lying low,
Locked up in the dark,
Not living my best life,
And letting my juices flow.
Don’t judge me because I ain’t a size zero,
Thick thighs not out,
But covered up,
Not alfresco.
Think you know me,
Well I don’t think so,
You just assume,
But I ain’t filling trollies full of junk in Tesco.
I’m sick so I’m full of medication,
Instead of healing,
I’m feeling ashamed because of society’s pushed and unrealistic misrepresentation.
My weight should not be the topic of conservation,
Put your energy into some other dedication,
Hold back and have some reservation.
If my weight is a worry for the nation,
You’ll need to get a life and take a vacation.
Word vomit,
Throwing hate,
No hesitation,
Girls got feelings,
You just assume,
With zero investigation.
Don’t judge me,
Don’t comment,
If there is no invitation,
Keep your obnoxious judgement to yourself,
It should be you in isolation.

Whatever Makes You Happy (even if just for a moment)…

I was christened Methodist at birth but most of my foundations and early beliefs of religion came from attending and being educated in a Catholic Primary School named, St Martin De Porres. My nan still says, “Say your prayers” everytime we speak. Yet after primary school, religion wasn’t ever really part of my life. Like most western people my age, growing up, family Sunday dinner (even if just Mum, the dog and I) was a ritual, not going to Church. I was always curious about religion though, I guess it was more about understanding my surroundings rather than looking for a saviour. Birmingham, England is and always has been extremely multicultural, I wanted to understand what my peers were upto, believed in and committed to. I was just curious and therefor Religious Studies was one of my favourite subjects at secondary school. There was so much to learn about, it made me question how all of which fit together, who was I to say what was fiction and none fiction, that one religion or another made more sense or not and so I vowed that until I found the time to study every single religion, it would not be fair for me to side with any which one without all the information. To this day I have never found the time to do so and so I stand by the tittle Agnostic, which for me means… I believe in some sort of higher power but as to which exactly, I do not know. Most of the people that I know are Atheists. The truth is I don’t mind what religion anyone follows, as long as they do not force it upon others.
I consider myself to be rather spiritual. Believe me or not, I have no reason to lie, I have psychic dreams, I have had three encounters with angels and I am still figuring it all out but this year I started to attend a spiritualist church. It is my saviour. With the nature of depression, I am down more often than not, whether it manifests out of me as suicidal or manic and many complex shades in between, I find it hard to be still, calm and have a free mind, but spiritual healing enables me to explore being zen, even if just for a moment every week which I attend. Hands on healing is extremely powerful. At its best, I can only explain the transaction between the healer and I with this metaphoric description; before healing I am a battery controlled object in an inanimate state, when I am touched the very first contact is like being plugged in on super charge, my body hair pricks up and a wave of cold hits me from head to toe and then heat is transferred to the areas in which I am touched, I am physically and mentally awoken, walls are broken down and restored. Sometimes I cry, sometimes my head hurts, sometimes I feel sea sick as I tend to be gently rocked both forward and back, side to side by the comforting powers that be. There is nothing human that I can compare it to, nothing that I have personally experienced, but please take my word for it, it is wonderful.
Healing/Church/Religion/Spirituality may not be for you but I urge you to try something substance and toxic free to help clear your mind and recharge, life is hard and with no you time, to reset, self reflect and self focuss, life can be an unpleasant, continuous and seemingly pointless cycle. I do not insist but encourage you to experiment if you have not yet discovered your happy place to reboot, maybe explore with yoga, meditation, mindfulness, any activity that focuses on self attention and reflection without the aid of distraction and find your happy place. You deserve it. We all deserve to feel wholesome, even if just for a moment in our fragmented lives. You might not find your thing straight away, it took me 35 years to connect the dots but we are all fragile and all deserve to be healed.
I just think everyone deserves an occasional worry free, float in the clouds, lifted, supported, enabling energy/feeling every now and then because we all fall down sometimes and it is so nice to be helped back up.

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.

You Fat Cow 🐮

Do something about it!
I know all about it,
I don’t need you to speak of it,
Or shout it!
I got scales all over my body,
That’s why I ain’t with nobody.
A skinny girl in a fat woman’s body,
My reflection is distorted,
I don’t know this body.
I fantasise all day long,
About physically changing from what I am now,
Which is wrong.
It’s the tablets that have changed my physicality,
But taking them is essential,
A practicality.
I got fat stashed,
Like a millionaire has cash,
Five foot two and nowhere to hide it.
From my head to my chest and my knees and feet,
Weight has conquered,
I admit my defeat.
They say beauty comes from within,
But we know that’s a lie,
Who are they kidding!

Fatty McFatty

I have gotten fat again,
So I am eating crap again!
Why is this lesson so hard to learn?
I prefer the blurred lines,
Distorted vision,
An inaccurate mosaique of darkness and reds,
When I cultivate and project the demons from inside my head.
My eyes long to see the girl that I was,
Not the creature that I have become,
Solid,
Chunky,
Fat, Fat, Fat,
Disgusting round and large,
A full figure that I cannot camouflage.
The tablets that I take,
Encourage and provoke weight gain,
Blow up your frame,
And change peoples perceptions of you.
Someone I know once said that I look like Precious (Gabourey Sidibe),
A ridiculous notion,
I was a size twelve at the time,
Always curvey,
But proud.
Now that statement forever haunts me,
As I fill out in all the wrong places,
Get heavier,
Feel heavier,
My paranoia is conformed as I see horror in peoples faces,
They think it true,
That I do,
look like precious,
And now I feel,
that I do.
The actress I speak of is content with her weight,
She says she is happy,
She works it,
She is living the dream,
Her size works for her.
I don’t mean to hate but I honestly do despise her now,
Because when I look into the mirror,
I see her,
I hate her,
She is not who I want to see or be!
She is not me,
And I am sure she wouldn’t want to be.
A skinny girl in a fat chicks body,
I worry about bullies and my health.
If you can own it,
Like and accept it,
Work it!
I dream of anorexia,
I wretch after I eat,
Wishing for one step further,
But cannot,
And so from bulimia I retreat.
I hide from the camera,
The stage,
The spotlights.
I don’t want to be called bubbly,
To be told that I have more to love.
I want to wear my old clothes,
To languish in vanity.
I diet,
I exercise,
No matter what I do,
Thirteen to sixteen tablets a day will have this effect on you.
I am short, crazy and fat,
If you’ll accept me for that,
Maybe I could handle that,
Think more about my health and wellbeing,
Then achieving and being a size “0”,
Which I have never been.
Please take everything into consideration and don’t be mean,
I inflict enough pain on to myself,
Without you adding to the mix.
Words do hurt,
The audible ones that you throw at me with received pronunciation,
Even the looks that you throw at me with silent communication.
Just leave me be.
You provoke frustration by inflicting intimidation.
Where your motivation comes from I do not know,
But your torture won’t make me thin so,
Come forth with love,
Or take a step back,
My physicality does not effect your reality,
And if I was well,
I think we would need to assess your mentality,
Not mine!

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