Eating Myself Alive

The always-lovely Sylvia Plath.

  Lately I've just been lacking motivation in general. This applies to not only making blog posts but also trying hard in school, making things at work, and controlling my emotions. While this is quite terrible for obvious reasons, I just... don't care. At first I thought it was procrastination, but now I'm coming to realize that it's pure laziness and loss of interest.
  I've always been a negative person, but it was around three or four years ago in particular that my positivity went completely downhill. Up until around sixth grade, I tried very hard in school and maintained wonderful grades. Something happened then.. I think it was the "scary phase," the phase that most 'tween' girls go through between ages 12 and 14 where they think they know everything and want to rebel against their parents, that brought me this change in attitude. Thankfully I now respect my parents and am out of that phase, but at the time I was young(er) and naive, and very, very stubborn.
  When I was 10 I saw my first therapist. I can't remember exactly why, but I do know that it was because fifth grade (a 'middle schooler' in my town) was bringing me anxiety and stressing me out. Before middle school I'd never taken a test before and had never had to study. I had never received grades before or even got critiqued on my work. Everything was for the fun of it. But when fifth grade rolled around, the whole idea of a new school with a different education system and way of grading freaked me out. I had never received criticism before (probably why I'm so bad at taking it now), and I broke down every night because of the vast amount of homework I had. So my parents decided to send me to a friendly therapist a few blocks away, and I despised it. What was the woman, asking me such personal questions and making me talk for an hour straight? That was crazy talk! I had never felt more intellectually violated before, and so I only kept my therapy up for a few months, then quit, feeling happy and refreshed. You know its a problem when going to therapy, the place that's supposed to make you better, stresses you out.
  All seemed well until sixth grade, when my so-called scary phase occurred. I started hanging out with a group of girls and guys who in turn hung out with older kids who smoked and drank. Of course I didn't do those things, but hanging out with people who did really messed me up. I thought I was much more mature than I really was, and therefore, I could talk back to my parents and constantly be out with friends. Looking back now, I realize how flawed this idea was, and I'd do almost anything to change it. I think most kids have rebellious stages though, so I'm glad I got mine over with at a time where no other peers judged me (at least to my face).
  Summer going into seventh grade I tried my first cigarette. I thought I was so tough, so cool, almost like a James Dean-type figure. But that's when the depression really hit. I got suicidal and started to do regrettable things, mostly making out with every guy I laid my hand on. Now that I look back at that I realize it was disgusting and plain stupid, but I guess that's just how my rebellious state went. Seventh grade was a pretty good year, though, as I stopped hanging out with that group of friends for the most part and returned to my state of being a good student and overall person.
  Eighth grade was when my depression worsened. I was no longer influenced by friends, but I rather stayed in most of the time and listened to music. That year was when my classic rock obsession began, and I'm thankful it started then, otherwise I may have been slightly more messed up physically than I am now. My dad and I began to argue a lot, and every insult he hurled at me, a new gash was added to my wrist. Thankfully most of the scars are faded now and only four and a half are visible. I returned to therapy on and off through sixth, seventh, and eighth grade, too, but in eighth grade, I was the most depressed I'd ever been. Not only was I depressed, but angry, too- I was constantly screaming and crying in my bedroom and throwing silent tantrums in my brain. Thankfully I was able to stop self-harming and gradually become happier and happier.
  I call this year the year of tears. I began talking to more people online, and in turn, I lost a few friends in real life. Besides work, I rarely leave my house for anything other than school. My constant thoughts have been "be happy, be positive, love everyone!" while my attitude is polar opposite, reflecting "I hate you, I hate me, fuck everyone." I've been suicidal once or twice this year, but like I said, my lack of effort and motivation has prevented me from doing anything harmful. Thankfully I'm out of said suicidal state for the time being. I've also struggled with self image, mainly because I've done a lot of things to make my peers judge me. Starting Freshman year I began dying my own hair (even though in eighth grade it'd been dyed multiple times, but by professionals), wearing whatever clothes I wanted, wearing lipstick, and showing off my love of all things rock and roll. Towards the beginning of the school year up until March I struggled with anorexia, dropping to a stunning 89 lbs. Although my eating disorder has gotten better, I still cringe when I have a full stomach, and I avoid the scale at all costs. Working at an ice cream place really ruined my eating patterns, and I guess that's a good thing. But now I can't stop eating junk food and it's destroying me.
  So there's my story; I know none of you asked for it, but I thought it was a nice touch for you all to know that yes, I'm currently very depressed, and yes, I'm struggling. But I'm alive, and I'm thankful for that. I'd appreciate if no one left "but you're so -blah blah- why did you -blah-? You're so nice and funny and blah blah" comments because it honestly seems beyond fake and just ruins me more. My self esteem is my personal issue, and although I can tell you care enough to comment, I don't need comments rubbing it in my face. So, comment if you will, but make sure it's not something I could interpret wrongly. Thank you for listening.

Illustration by Cynthia