There are a lot of things I wish I could change or get rid of.
My afflictive acne. My stubborn stomach fat. My Hot Wheels stretch marks. My aggravating anxiety. My ghastly gray hairs. My ferocious folliculitis. The list goes on.
Everyone is beautiful in their own way, and I’m a person that loves to uplift others with encouragement, kindness, positivity, and an open heart. I’m a natural-born helper and a bonafide people-pleaser. However, it seems that I can’t always practice what I preach.
You know what brings me absolute joy, besides lactose-free ice cream? Helping people. Listening to people. That’s one of the ways I feel happy and alive. No matter what the situation or subject. I love helping my brother with homework. I love opening the door for strangers. I love talking to someone who’s going through a rough time. When I’m not depressed, that’s when I find myself at my best.
But, I definitely have awful days. Though it might not show on my exterior, the darkness implodes inside of me like a mushroom cloud of emotion.
Mornings are difficult. Beds are my best friend. Mirrors are my enemy.
My depression lingers. It’s still here-consuming me. It’s been years, but it doesn’t want to leave me. Why-a question I will no longer ask.
Don’t get me wrong I have some really awesome periods of life. These periods are sporadic though. They might last a few hours, a day, sometimes months. But then my darkness creeps back in parasitically. Taking me back, back when I had no way of finding an out. I get worried, and most of all curious beyond measure. Questioning myself-I’m occupied with so many great things and people that it doesn’t make sense how I can just fall into a trap so easily after being so strong.
I’m a hypocrite. I tell women and men alike to love themselves, yet I can’t. What kind of sick and twisted game am I playing here?
I put on a good front. Almost Oscar worthy. But you know, that’s the one thing that has worked. If I can pretend it’s all good on the outside then people don’t suspect. BUT-is this even more wrong of me? I can’t tell a lie because I literally cannot tell a lie. Seriously-I’m a terrible poker player with the worst poker face. Basically I’m Truthful Tammy everyday of my life except when it comes to me. I lie to myself so I can have a good day. I don’t think it’s a good thing, but I don’t believe it’s a bad thing either.
Everyone has their own way of getting through the days, but is my way of coping bad? Since I dismiss the fact that I have inner evils that I can’t overtake?
Either way, I’m still here everyday fighting it and I believe that’s a success.