PSA: sorry for all the cursing in this post. It seemed the only way.
The world we live in is full of shit. Shit we don't need more than shit we need. Waste. Cloudiness. Extra. Excess.
I have always been incredibly indecisive about what I need and what I don't need. I can be easily convinced that I wouldn't be able to survive without my six journals or vega sport protein and health powder or my 24 essential oils that I haven't touched in years. Even right now, I am googling "essential oil mister" so that my motherfucking space can smell like health and heaven and like I have my shit together. Yet, I look around at all this stuff and belongings that really only have meaning because I imbue them with such value. They literally mean shit though. I don't think that they make my life better. But at the same time, without this shit, I don't know if I would feel like I'm worth anything. It's such an inescapable paradox that I continually cycle through. Getting new stuff does bring me fleeting happiness. And I know it may not give me what I "need," but happiness is fucking happiness and it's condescending and elitist to try to tell me that that happiness is superficial and meaningless, because it is often what I cling to.
I want to get rid of things that I don't like or don't use and keep the things that I like/think I will use/wear. But the fact of the matter is, the shit I really like in my closet I don't wear often because I'm so miserable with my body. I revert to my shitty clothes which are only worth wearing for a shitty person. I seem to only have nice things around and never use them because I am waiting until I am the person I envisioned this stuff looking best on. I envisioned this person to be skinny, smart, accomplished, and fucking beautiful. I seem to be none of those things. So, I buy the shit and then I just tease myself with thinking I'll never be that person, which I know deep down is never, holding on to the hope that there is a parallel universe where I have my shit together 24/7 and I never indulge in any habits that make me less productive or less successful (in all definitions of the word). So I eat and eat and eat and eat until I can't think or move, until what hurts doesn't hurt anymore but actually hurts way more. I steal graham crackers and sneak them up to my room and lock my door so I can engulf an entire box in under 10 minutes.
I've always struggled with disordered eating in some way, shape or form. It scientifically made sense that I started binge eating a couple years ago because I had been calorie restricting for such a long time since a very young age (4th grade). It's been a roller coaster of yo-yo dieting ever since my first binge as a freshmen in high school and I still trap myself in the confines of some diet or "lifestyle." I've always thought it was bullshit that it means something deeper or something that I hate about myself or my life or some stupid experience that maybe severely fucked me up. Because I've always really despised fucked up people who tell you they're fucked up and hide behind that as an excuse of not doing something or acting stupidly (cough cough, looking at you Meredith Grey). But, I may have used that as an excuse to avoid putting in the hard work in. It's really fucking hard and exhausting to try to understand yourself and who you are without simultaneously hating yourself and being frustrated with the challenge and feeling like you've hit a brick wall. It's easier be a mindless eating machine.
I want to part with my shit and I want to feel like I'm a functioning member of society that actually does something. I want to feel fucking meaningful and valued. But, I don't want to give myself excuses, but I also don't want to be too hard on myself. Goddamn paradoxes will literally kill me.
I want to accept the things I cannot change and change the things I cannot accept. The question I have is, what about the changes that you cannot change but cannot accept?? Are you just doomed to a maddening life of misery?
Then again, I am a firm believer (I think I am at least) in the idea that you are in control of how things make you feel and things that make you feel bad do that because you let them. But, what do I really believe? Shall I write in circles some more or shall I end it here?
