the pursuit of “better”

Photo by Anna Nekrashevich on

I’m getting better. he better call me. I’ll do better next time. when am I going to feel better?

I feel like I’m always waiting for better. when will it get here? I know I am getting “better” – but I’m not there yet. and how do I know this? by reading tons of articles/writings on the subject. it’s very clear, according to these pieces, that one should be feeling better after sharing the problem. after talking about it with others that have similar issues. sometimes this does help. but I wouldn’t say it makes me feel “better,” whatever that is. I just feel vindicated in a small way. people in my life realizing I’m sharing my truth; I hope deeply not to be judged or criticized harshly. scared to death of that. it is a bitch of a disease. I’ve had it for 40 years, and I’m ready for some relief. I’m so tired of sharing. the word is even annoying to me. maybe I need to get “better” at it, but how? digging harder into my head for reasons that I hate my body? my reasons are pretty typical. who cares to read anymore of the same stuff? my body takes up too much space, that’s for sure. my size is unacceptable – to ME. of course, I care what others think of me, too, so I have to consider that I am “unacceptable” to them as well. BDD at its best. I haven’t used a full-length mirror in several years, opting only for the face mirror to apply makeup, and dry my hair. so afraid of what I’ll see, after not looking for several years. I think I know what I look like because I feel my body around me, but it’s been a while. anxiety through the roof. I’m not going near the mirror today. just thinking about it makes me sweat. I pull out a Kleenex from the box and mop my brow with it.

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