takin selfies with your friends like
(Source: 5fifth.tumblr.com )
What a lovely message to come back to.
I’m gonna start off by telling you a little story about myself. For almost every single year of my life, I hated myself. Oh god, I fucking HATED myself. It wasn’t just that I thought I was ugly, or I said I was ugly. I believed I was so ugly that I deserve to rip open my skin, to go days without eating, to punish myself in every possible FUCKING way. And no, not just ugly on the outside. On the inside, every corner of my fucked up mind and every part of me that made me who I am I decided was inherently and completely UGLY.
To this day, even after years of therapy (since I was in first grade!) I still struggle IMMENSELY with self-esteem issues. I still can hardly bear to look in the mirror, or go outside without makeup. But anon, I will tell you this. I have my moments of beauty. I have my moments of feeling like I am a perfect rose. And I take them whenever I can fucking get them. I will OWN them. I will tell the world, “Hey guys! I feel beautiful today.” I swear to everything I hold dear, I am proud of myself. I am proud of who I’ve become and what I’ve survived through. I’m proud that I have my moments and I’m proud that I can eat without sobbing and I can look in the mirror and smile. I’m proud that I can resist the urge to dismantle razors and pencil sharpeners in under 30 seconds, I’m proud of my one year, three months, and nineteen days of being clean.
I am no longer inherently ugly, not anymore, not to myself.
Do NOT preach to me about realizing my level of beauty. Because all of my life I have done nothing more than measure myself in everything.
I am not ugly. I may not be beautiful, I may not be stunning, I may not be anything to anyone but at least to myself, I’m recovering, inside and out. And THAT, anon, is fucking beautiful.
People that still tell “women in the kitchen” jokes