Regression: when you take one step forward, only to take ten steps back.

I don’t know why, but the past few days, I’ve been back to spiralling downward into depression. I remember this feeling. It’s so familliar, and dark, and cold, and old. I don’t want to be here anymore. It’s like going to a place I never wanted to come back to. It’s like reliving a strange past that I thought I moved on from, but it seems like I’ve just repressed a lot of feelings and one moment in time brought it all back.

All my insecurities, all my sadness, my pain, my anorexia, my self-loathing, has completely been amplified the past few days. By no fault of anyone else’s but my own. Writing has become the only therapy for me, and it’s really been a while since I’ve written on here.

I now work 38 hours a week between two part-time jobs. I go to school full-time. I try to spend any time leftover with _____ if I can. I’m tired. I’m overworked, and underpaid. Nothing new. I’m 25 and still no where in life. Sure, I’ve made progress, I now have a path I’d like to take, I think I know what I’m doing, I’m always afraid that I’ll realize that it’s not the right path and make changes again. I can’t afford to do that anymore. My indecisiveness will be the death of me. It’s become such a huge cost both financially and timely. I need to just settle at this point with whatever I got, I don’t have much time left. I always feel like I’m trying to catch up. I’m always behind. I’m always behind everyone. I’ve never been the top of my class, I’ve never been the top of anything, I’ve never been the best of anything. I have no worth.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I hate the skin I’m in. I wish I could just rip it all off and start over. Better yet, I just wish I wasn’t alive anymore. I hope I die soon. I don’t see the point in living. Lately whenever I drive alone, I have thoughts rushing through my head of maybe swerving my car into a light post, or driving down the highway and crashing violently into a ditch. My sister’s friend’s sister died in a murder-suicide. No one really knows what happened, but I hope something like that happens to me. I wish I could just die. I don’t know why I obsess over death so much, or why I romanticize it in my head. Sometimes, death is the only reason I want to stay alive – other times it’s the reason I can’t wait to stop living.

I can’t even make my mind up on that. I can’t make my mind up on anything. _____ has told me that I’m constantly contradicting myself, and it sucks that he’s right, I don’t know what to do. I say I want to change, and then I also say that I don’t. I do that with everything.

I haven’t been eating much the past few days. I just don’t have the desire to eat, I don’t really have an appetite, eating food doesn’t give me pleasure anymore. In a way, I’m happy because it saves me a buck, and maybe I’ll finally lose some fucking weight. Or maybe I can just starve myself to death. And just finally fucking die. Every morning I wake up feeling like I never want to wake up anymore. I want to sleep an eternal sleep. I feel hopeless, worthless, and undesirable. I wake up wanting to cry, and I just hold back tears because I don’t want to feel like such a fucking emotional wreck. I feel weak, and tired. I feel old and worn. I feel like I have nothing left. I’m an empty vessel all over again.

On Thursday, I got my shift covered at work to meet someone that _____ has wanted me to meet since last year. She was a good no, really good friend of his in high school. A time he recounts as one of his best memories. And I’m happy for him I really am, I’m glad he had a great highschool experience. I really wasn’t looking forward to meeting her because I’ve seen pictures of her, through social media, and she’s absolutely beautiful. She’s skinny, she’s petite, she’s got amazing skin, she’s got a great body, great sense of fashion, popular, cool, collected, knows how to present herself well. I tried really really hard that day to look as presentable as I possibly could, I didn’t leave my house entirely confident. I didn’t love the way I looked, I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin – but I had other things to do, and I felt okay. Not great, but okay. And I really did think I would be okay, I was reassured that we would have another person to meet that day, so it would be the four of us all together which I hoped would balance things out. The fourth person was also a really good friend of _____’ at the time. I was excited and nervous all at the same time, and so was _____.

I know this whole meeting came with good intentions. I also went in knowing that I was not going to be focussed on very much, because these two people are people that he hasn’t seen in a really long time. And of course they have things to talk about, and time to spend together. I know he wanted me to meet them because they were important to him, and he wanted them to meet me, because I’m important to him. It was really sweet. He’s always really sweet. And I’m just such a fucking insecure bitch that I went and ruined a perfectly good moment and selfishly tarnished it in my head.

We went to the airport to pick his gorgeous friend up, I was honestly fine up until that point. I don’t know what happened. I saw him get out of the car and put his hazard lights on, and walk towards her, I saw her look at him and jump up in excitement to see him, they hugged. Just hugged. And it was nice, it’s the kind of hug you get when you haven’t seen someone in a long time, it’s just a “I’m really happy to see you hug” and I went and twisted it around in my head because to me it looked like it was embracing a long lost love. And I got so hurt. I wished that I never looked, I wish I stopped looking when I knew it was hurting me, and then I wondered why it even hurt so much.

I tried to act normal the entire night, talked to her, got to know her as much as I could let myself, I already had my preconcieved notions of her, all of which were wrong of course – because she’s just really nice. She has a boyfriend of her own, and she lives in Kelowna B.C. with him. I don’t know how I got it into my head that she was a threat to me, but I couldn’t get it out.

All I kept thinking about was all the times I felt insecure by things _____ had said to me in the past. Telling me how he thinks I look better in makeup than not, and of course his old friend with her beautiful face had the perfect touch of makeup on, while I felt like a fucking clown. When he told me that all I need to do was tone up, and meanwhile his friend is petite and perfectly porportioned. I bet she doesn’t have scabs at her belly, I bet her skin doesn’t have ingrowns like me, I bet her legs are soft and smooth, I bet she isn’t hairy either. Must be nice.

Then I remembered my own past in high school, and how I struggled so fucking hard to fucking be someone I’ll never fucking be. I don’t know why I obsessed with fitting in so much, but I wanted to be skinny. So badly. I wanted to be as thin as my mom and dad were when they were in their teens. I wanted to be skinny like all the girls in my class that wore size 0 jeans. I was always teased at home for being big boned, and that carried over to how I felt in high school, no matter how skinny I got, I was never skinny enough. My hips were always too big to fit into a Size 0. I remember feeling my hip bones rub against the jeans I would force myself into. I remember skipping meals at school, and purposely not eating at home, I remember going to sleep hungry every night only to wake up and skip breakfast as well.

I remember all the boys I ever dated in high school always being skinnier than I could ever be. I was jealous of them. I couldn’t even be at their level either. I remember the first boyfriend I ever had was a tiny petite guy who couldn’t gain weight even if he tried. He ate whatever he wanted and couldn’t gain a pound. He was shorter than me, and it always made me insecure about my height. I have always felt insecure of my height. I always wished I wasn’t so tall. I wished to be short – as short as the girls in my class, because they could wear all kinds of cute things that I could never fit into. I was never small enough – I was never good enough.

I remember my first boyfriend cheating on me with a shorter girl, she was beautifully skinny, and obviously shorter than him, which I’m sure complimented him a lot better than me. I remember dating all kinds of indian guys who would say they preferred petite girls, and just knowing I never fit that criteria.

And then I met _____’ old friend, who fit everything I wasn’t in high school and it just brought everything back for me. I couldn’t control it. Every feeling I ever had that I thought I got over, I guess I really didn’t.

And now I’m sitting here crying in my dark room, just wondering why I haven’t gotten over it yet – why does the wound still feel as fresh as it did in highschool? You’d think it would have scabbed over by now.

His friend re-opened wounds for me, and it was completely unintentional on her part, but now I finally realize why I’ve been so jealous and insecure about her. And it’s unwarranted. She doesn’t deserve it, and neither does ______. She’s just his friend. It’s completely platonic, and even if it wasn’t at one point in time, it doesn’t matter anymore because she’s moved on to someone else, and she’s literally moved away as well. There’s hundreds of kilometers of distance between us, and she really made an effort to get to know me, and I felt like I blew my first impression with her. I wasn’t myself. I felt quiet and reserved and out of place, I went into observation mode and felt like I was in the outer part of an interrogation room. I can see them, but they can’t see me. I felt invisible. I felt like going home, I just wanted to run away. And then I took it out on _____. All the feelings I felt, I put it onto him and treated him poorly. And I do this all the time. I’m so fed up of it.

Maybe it’s yet another sign that I’m just not right for him. Your first girlfriend is never your last. It never panned out with my first love, I fell so deep in love with him and two and a half years later it fell apart. I thought I was going to be with him the rest of my life, and I was wrong, I was blind. And maybe he’s blind. Maybe he doesn’t see that I’m completely toxic for him, that all I do is bring negativity into his life. Maybe I mentally abuse him. I have no idea how he feels entirely, but I know for sure that he feels like I don’t care about him, and that’s not true – but actions speak louder than words, and I can say I care all I want, but if all I do is push him away then what is he supposed to think?

I bring no value to anyone. I don’t see why I need to live any longer. Maybe progression for me is being closer to death. Hopefully I’ll get it right in my next life.



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