Fucking Delusional Paradise

Somehow, I fool myself into thinking I’m somewhat normal.  Somewhat skinny.  Somewhat sane…

Then I try to take some photos and realize most of that is not true.  Especially the skinny part.  Like jesus, I’m “working” out but it’s all a joke.  There’s still too much fat on my body.  Who could love this?  A blob of unsatisfaction.  And I watch others, like in my family, put pressure on themselves for some non-existent reason.  Or, unseeable reason.  Otherwise YOU ARE FUCKING PERFECT.  JESUS.  I don’t have hips, but enough fat to pass off as hips.  Enough stomach fat to pass off as whale blubber.  Enough calf to contribute to a small calf.  I’m thick as fuck and I try to tell myself otherwise.

The wine I’m drinking doesn’t help.  I thought that I’d like to think that without my fiancé I’d be better off.. but I’m not.  In fact, I’m worse.  I thought I was getting better, but all of my addictions just step right up – HELLLoooo we’re here to make your life fucking miserable.

Fuck.  You.

So..

While I try to make life out to be a place where we can live just off of the beauty of reality alone, I’m just fucking fooling myself. I’m not in the right state of mind to convince myself otherwise. Maybe I took a few photos, but that’s the Paradise of Perfection. It’s a fucking delusional paradise, in which I live.  Welcome.

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