We totally judge. We all do it. Myself included.
But some people do it more than others.
Especially, of all people, to themselves...
We care about the shape of ourselves. The outer bits. The presence we give a glance from a passing stranger over the eminence we exude towards people we've known for years.
We want to light up a room. Turn heads. Be beautiful. Be pretty. As if outer beauty equates inner.
So we diet. We starve. We hate. We hate hate hate. On something we, like it or not, were born with.
This face, these eyes, these boobs, this nose, these fingers. To a certain extent it will always be ours. No matter how many surgeries, or work outs, or cover ups we use. It's genetics baby. Live with it. Or don't. Jealousy solves nothing. It creates an inner demon, which like a parasite, will feed off of you until you have nothing left. Or no one left who cares.
I'm not saying stop trying to be healthy. But stop trying to be something you're not, nor never will be. Or shaping yourself to someone else's standards. A social vampire. A lost soul. It's sad really. And sickening. I've been trying to come to terms with myself and remember to just be me and forget the pressure that is barring down on me from birth. Spat at you from ads and television and people in society making snide remarks about the fat girl or the ugly one who can't get a date. It's disgusting how ugly beautiful people can really be. How people who have no empathy, can hurt someone for the rest of their lives and not even know it or give a damn for that matter.
Once in high school I was late to class and rushing through campus. I remember exactly what I was wearing that day, binder in hand, a sly smile on my face cause I knew I was in deep shit but didn't care. In a few months I'd be out of this crap whole.. the name stitched onto my cheerleading jacket just another ironic reminder of why I despised this place and how I couldn't wait until I moved to a city where I knew not a single soul. Two guys were out by their truck.. checking out the last minute stragglers. Me, being the people watcher I am, listened into their conversation as I approached. They were rating girls who passed on a one to ten scale. Because they of course had every right to decide then and there what deemed someone fuckable I suppose. As I passed my curious ears honed in. "Uhhh fuck I don't know.. a two?" He said. My grip tightened. I know it should have never bothered me. Two bro-ed out losers who probably work for toyota of Escondido now. Judging me. But I arrived to class in tears that day. My friend met me outside and I told her the story. "A TWO?" I sobbed. "Jesus do I look THAT bad?" I asked her. That instant still bothers me to this day sometimes. And it's not only me, its hundreds of people around me. I've heard the story time upon time upon time. And I think to myself... is it really worth all this hoopla? I mean if someone likes you they do. If they don't they don't. As long as people are upfront about it what can we do but be who we are and hope that somewhere in all the gin joints in all the world the person who finds you absolutely irresistible will walk into yours. And if they don't? Well learn to love yourself and your life. The more you do that, the more you'll widen your true grip on reality. You don't have to find love.. to find happiness.
Once you find yourself. It's all you ever wanted. And all you ever need.
And these. These are the stupid crazy things that inhabit my head for no reason on long gorgeous rides home alone.
