Skinny Memories
By the age of 15 I was already dangerously under-weighted and also avoiding 2 or 3 meals every day, working out intensively and still being able to manage a whole world of lies I made with the purpose to hide my own private nightmare from my parents and teachers.
I thought that moment, It was lucky the loosen 90`s fashion I wore those days allowed me to succeed on my slim down self-imposed goals.
But, after two attempts of commit suicide I chose to confront my problem and welcome myself into the healing process.
It was not easy, the healing process took seven years of my life and several mistakes, wrong choices that did not helped me out.
Psychology, for example, was useful to understand the problem but not to work it out.
Also, I was not really prepared to the fact that you ended up asking more than one therapist; they make you say the same things over and over, and of course, do not show themselves particularly enthusiastic about your case (you are job, not a life).
I had the same feeling going to church, speaking the priests, it was embarrassing, having to ask someone to listen things that are not supposed to tell to completely strangers persons.
I started to read books and articles by my own, having meditate about spirituality in deep, achieving to understand why it was important to heal.
Just the awareness, the sole idea of being my own basement; a soul in search for her inner happiness, made me feel strong, made me want to rescue me from the claws of the fragile role model that many girls attach themselves to become a clone of their "thinspirations".
This is a poem I wrote about this, recalling some skinny memories..
Behind the blindness the dream never dies, starving day after day having no reward other than vanity for this sadistic behavior I see Me, my own predator.
We were a union for destruction, I admit she and I, two people that destiny put together friends on one side, enemies on behind we were partners in life and our efforts were taking us to death hilarious, delusional our world feeling like a couple of fairies fairies forever young and forever perfect two never-land`s children, there, pretentious weak Cinderella`s, feeding ourselves with sights that and compliments, she and I sisters in life, in death Was I becoming beautiful? That was my eternal question Hiding my need to feel loved and fit for somebody that truly cared wishing to belong to something wishing to stop wandering streets wishing to stop picking problems everywhere All I did was to roll over In search of dates and fame Cared too much about men attention Neither that made me happy or beautiful How come a fairy would survive this magazine world without admirers.
I wanted to become a magnet the envy for woman Me, the narcissism, the self-love the blindness of desperation Me, the loneliness Me, the silence Me, the exquisite pearl of sweetness diving into the mod Me, the sophistication drowning in a trashy world I made me go In And after all the days and nights feeling close to die becoming this fragile and useless I learned that Men do not make fairies beautiful I were beautiful all the time but did not knew I had on me, all I ever needed, all the time.
I thought that moment, It was lucky the loosen 90`s fashion I wore those days allowed me to succeed on my slim down self-imposed goals.
But, after two attempts of commit suicide I chose to confront my problem and welcome myself into the healing process.
It was not easy, the healing process took seven years of my life and several mistakes, wrong choices that did not helped me out.
Psychology, for example, was useful to understand the problem but not to work it out.
Also, I was not really prepared to the fact that you ended up asking more than one therapist; they make you say the same things over and over, and of course, do not show themselves particularly enthusiastic about your case (you are job, not a life).
I had the same feeling going to church, speaking the priests, it was embarrassing, having to ask someone to listen things that are not supposed to tell to completely strangers persons.
I started to read books and articles by my own, having meditate about spirituality in deep, achieving to understand why it was important to heal.
Just the awareness, the sole idea of being my own basement; a soul in search for her inner happiness, made me feel strong, made me want to rescue me from the claws of the fragile role model that many girls attach themselves to become a clone of their "thinspirations".
This is a poem I wrote about this, recalling some skinny memories..
Behind the blindness the dream never dies, starving day after day having no reward other than vanity for this sadistic behavior I see Me, my own predator.
We were a union for destruction, I admit she and I, two people that destiny put together friends on one side, enemies on behind we were partners in life and our efforts were taking us to death hilarious, delusional our world feeling like a couple of fairies fairies forever young and forever perfect two never-land`s children, there, pretentious weak Cinderella`s, feeding ourselves with sights that and compliments, she and I sisters in life, in death Was I becoming beautiful? That was my eternal question Hiding my need to feel loved and fit for somebody that truly cared wishing to belong to something wishing to stop wandering streets wishing to stop picking problems everywhere All I did was to roll over In search of dates and fame Cared too much about men attention Neither that made me happy or beautiful How come a fairy would survive this magazine world without admirers.
I wanted to become a magnet the envy for woman Me, the narcissism, the self-love the blindness of desperation Me, the loneliness Me, the silence Me, the exquisite pearl of sweetness diving into the mod Me, the sophistication drowning in a trashy world I made me go In And after all the days and nights feeling close to die becoming this fragile and useless I learned that Men do not make fairies beautiful I were beautiful all the time but did not knew I had on me, all I ever needed, all the time.
