This is no new thing for me to suffer from; if you’ve been reading me long enough, you know I’ve already spoken on it before. But sometimes it seems to sneak up on me like a snake, and takes a bite out of my heart (aka: what little confidence I might have built up since the last time I was bitten) so big it knocks me off my feet and depression rakes my soul.


In the last two years I’ve made legit efforts to work on both my inner and outer appearance; to wear clothes that were more representative of my style and figure, to be brave enough to express myself with funky hair and makeup the way I always wanted to, to take care of myself with better eating and fitness for both my overall health and weight issues, and to actually “feel” pretty on occasion. And as several of my posts have indicated, I did feel pretty on occasion for the first time in a long time because of these efforts. There have been several days I’ve finished my makeup and hair and even considered taking a selfie to mark the moment because I was so impressed with the look. But those pictures never seem to look the way my eyes or mind see myself, which brings me to this latest snake bite.


I finally got my wedding pictures back this past weekend and to say I was excited for them would be an understatement. The whole day was over so fast, I feel like it was more like a something I dreamed rather than something I actually participated in. My memory of the details of that day hardly exists; I just know I was happy. I remember feeling like a million bucks, gorgeous the way every bride wants to be on that special day. But as I look through these pictures I feel like I shouldn’t have lied to myself about feeling so pretty. Every little flaw seems to beam at me brighter than anything else in the pictures; my double chins that have almost eaten my neck whole at this point, my waistline, which a tape measure swears I have, but certainly isn’t evident in the pictures, how my unnecessarily big boobs that had just went down 2 bra sizes still manage to look even bigger than my already big head, the way my fat bulges out of the sleeve, even though I had to have them taken in and they were nowhere near tight on me… I could pick apart these pictures forever. In fact, the more I look at them, the less I love myself in them.


Everyone I’ve showed them to says I’m crazy and I know I should probably listen and stop tainting such a special day with self-hatred. But while a big part of me knows it’s not healthy to pick on myself as much as I am, I also don’t believe it’s a wise idea to lie to yourself about your appearance because then pictures like these fall into your lap and the shock of what you truly look like is almost too much to bear.


All of this being said, I still intend to share the pictures and recount the day in my next post. I recently read a very thought provoking article about photographers, this particular one being overweight like me, always capturing someone else’s memories and never putting themselves in front of the camera because they don’t want to remember being that big or flawed. That one day they’d regret not having those memories of their own because they kept waiting for that magical moment when they wouldn’t hate the way they looked and it never came. I already feel this way at almost every family gathering. I’m there to capture it for everyone else, but I almost never put my camera in someone else’s hands to capture me being there too. Not just for my own memories when I’m old and losing it, but for anyone I leave behind when the end of my days comes.


I haven’t had this sort of hatred for myself in a long time and I doubt it will just vanish overnight, but I’m going to keep trying to improve myself both physically and mentally and hoping that one day pictures of important moments in my life won’t make me cry the way these did. That if there are tears, they’ll only be the happy, nostalgic kind.



High’s & Low’s

December is always such an awesome month for me. Heck, basically from the moment October 1st hits everything is just a building of happiness for me from Halloween to Thanksgiving to Christmas. It's almost hard to even contain, the excitement of it all. Because of the season's busy nature, though, I often feel like I don't get to enjoy the ambiance of it all really until after the big day has finally arrived. 

Obviously with it being nearly the halfway point of January, I shouldn't even still be thinking about Christmas. It's come and gone. But my tree and decorations are still up and I'm still clinging to the idea that it's still the holiday season. I'm starting to realize this year that this is getting harder and harder for me every year. The act of putting the season away. I had all these plans to at least clean and put the decorations away this weekend and work on getting the tree down by next weekend, but it seems like I did everything else I could do today so there wasn't time left for that. Some sort of internal protest. 

I hate how I felt so alive and happy just a couple weeks ago, but just the idea of officially putting all the visual representation of the season away makes me sad enough to wallow like this. To avoid it like the plague when I know it's time to finally clean up. 

You would think at 30, I'd grow less attached to the joy of Christmas, but I swear I'm more attached to it now than I was even when I was a kid when Christmas is the most magical thing in the world. 

I'm dreading this next week. I've got to make myself pack Christmas up. I've just got to. And I suspect I'll be extra sad as a result. *sigh*


The dark corners of me…

Something inside of me is dying, crying, reaching for something – anything to pull me out of this. I feel empty, baseless, like a wasted shell. And no matter how much I know I need to get myself away from this mentality, I just can’t seem to escape it. I feel like I’ve walked back into a forbidden territory, one where I don’t belong, one where I die if I enter again.


The above was written this morning at work, where I can not log into livejournal. Obviously my mood yesterday had only grown worse and it wasn’t the rain or my writing bothering me, it was just me. I was a bit over dramatic about it this morning though, which I guess was a nice wake up call.

Musically today – the song below was the first thing that came to mind when I woke up. I haven’t listened to this song or genre of music for a while now. It was part of my past, when I wasn’t right in the head. I listened to my 40+ albums worth of Psychopathic Records music all day after this one – although I’m not sure if it was such a good idea. I thought some songs like “Serial Killa” and “Gimme that Blood” would be good mood setting songs for reading Dexter, but there are too many songs like the one below or the death letter style of “I’m Alright” and I think it may have only made my dismal perception of myself worse.

Twiztid – Wrong with Me (There’s no real video, just the song, but they’ve also provided the lyrics)

Anyway, I’m a little numb now which is actually good (I think). Finally capable of ending my own pity party, I’ve been trying to give deeper thought into what exactly is making me feel this way because I MUST get out of this. I will not accept regression. So the following seem to be the things that are most prominent in my mind (they are in no particular order).

1. I Hate Change – There’s a lot of change either going on around me or that needs to be happening, but I live by routine – I don’t like to vary from the pattern.

2. OCD is no longer my Friend – OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) has always worked for me even though it’s terrible for some people. It made me overly organized and neat. It set high expectations for myself and compelled me to meet them. It may have made me bitchy at times, but overall having it was a good thing for me. Now I’m not so sure. Those organized tendencies escape me now and it makes me waste time doing things like reading and re-reading and re-re-reading, etc… every little thing I write. I’m positive this is playing a huge role in why it’s taking me so long.

3. Schedules – I need to schedule time to write, time to work out, time to read, time to work on my websites (which I’ve completely neglected), time to sleep longer than 5 hours a night – I need to set a schedule and stick to it. Go back to the ways of living by a planner and get myself organized again.

Other things like getting older and my weight loss are also gnawing at my mind, but I know they’re irrational worries. I’m really not that old and I’ve got to stop thinking like my life is going to be over in 2 years or something. And I’m already working on the weight thing and the revised schedule should make it go faster.

So in conclusion I’m not better, but I know I will be. I’m done egging on the negativity. I’ve decided to face the changes and get over myself already. This is ridiculous at this point. I don’t wallow like this, not anymore at least.

Shoving my face into some books for a little bit to clear out all the ugly, to paint me a pretty picture (or maybe not so pretty reading Dexter?), and to let someone else’s words fill my thoughts.

Peace – Sarah



– Surrounded by clouds… of doubt –

Something’s not right with me. Everything feels off, like I’m watching someone else walk around in my body (and do a poor job at it). Maybe it’s just the rain.

I’m feeling unusually negative lately about a lot of things. Overall I just feel down, like I would be depressed if I actually allowed myself to be (but I won’t). Still I feel detached from the fire in me, the belief. I’m finding myself doubting my ability more than believing I will actually get to share it with people.

I think about the writers I love and I just can’t see myself worthy of being in the same class. I try to remind myself that they probably all started out like me, but for some reason I can’t make the thought stick. I hate feeling like this, thinking like this – it goes against the way I try to live. I know I have the strength to pull myself out of this funk, but right now I’m having a hard time accessing it.

I might start reading the Dexter series sooner than I thought now. Might be nice to read from a serial killers point of view and see what that’s like. Also I’m quite interested in the bloody element of the storyline, there’s a lot to learn from that for my story.

I’ve got to feed my mind something and right now it’s not writing. Maybe reading will do the trick.

Peace – Sarah