Tag Archives: hate

I’ll admit it, I’m a hypocrite on weight.

I always tell women how beautiful their figures are. I think plus sized models are GORGEOUS, they’re bigger but shaped in such a feminine, pretty way. I’m a rather thin girl with both large hips and breasts, but rarely am I thin enough in my own eyes. Here I am preaching how beautiful it is to be bigger, but I’m obsessed with my own weight.


A few years ago, about 5 of them, I hated myself and my life. I seen anorexia as beautiful. It was how I dreamed of looking, I never did become anorexic, but I did starve myself. I’d go without eating until I became dizzy and lightheaded. I ate, but not large portions.  More like, about half of what I should’ve. That was the easy part, the people around me never said anything because they didnt notice. I’m not blaming anyone but myself, but I wish I would’ve had my own view of beauty back in that particular portion of my life. 

Now, here’s the catch, I see my life and my body as beautiful. But I that number on the scale tell me if I’m good enough. 4-5 years ago I was the same height and weight, 2-3 years ago I grew an inch taller but gained 3 pounds. “It’s no big deal, it’s just that scale” I told myself. At the beginning of this last summer, I weighed myself and was yet another 5 pounds. I loved my figure until that moment, a part of me broke down, my confidence was melting. As a result? I lost 10 before school could roll back around. lately, I haven’t been working out at all and I’m slacking on my nutrition (which is surprising cause I tend to be a health freak). I know nobody else’s notices these changes because they’re very subtle, but it kills me. If I’m not perfect, I’m not good enough.


and that’s what makes me a hypocrite.Image

Just ranting

Honestly, I hate society. I used to walk out wearing baggy clothes, no makeup, and thick framed glasses. I have a pretty face that I’d cover. I got no attention from men what so ever. However, society cares about a person’s body just as much as they care about a person’s face. Usually, I dress in the clothes I like (sort of a “rock” type of look, neither the sweet take-me-home-to-your-mother look or the i’ll-have-sex-with-you-for-money look) and typically I do my makeup very nicely because I like looking in the mirror and feeling proud that I’m not “ugly.” Anywho, I went to the mall with no makeup on and my hair puleld back, my clothes were dirty (grass stained bluejeans and a fitted tank top) from doing farm work; but, because it was a fitted tank top I still got checked out per say. I didn’t think much other than “wow, that man is a pig” hearing comments a man was making to his friends. It didn’t become personal until last night, I tried messaging someone out of boredom to which he responded “I thought you stopped talking to me a long time ago?” followed by him saying that he wanted nothing to do with me and that “I only liked you because you have a nice body” I have a few comments on that. 1. I respect his honesty although I would’ve loved it if he had been honest when we talked the other times 2. He actually wanted to know me before he seen my body (through my clothes, NOT naked although he sure did try to) 3. This guy is often called an amazing influence, People think he’s amazing because he’s come a long way and used to be homeless but seriously? And it’s not just him, many men act like this towards women and if I didn’t have some amazing men in my life including an overly honest best-guy-friend (named H.C.) I might go crazy. The amount of shit young women take is ridiculous, I hear crude comments because I’m attractive. My friend? overweight and get’s “kill yourself” comments and pushed around. Maybe that’s not ALL about looks, but confidence. I used to be pushed around then after attempting suicide several times, I learned that I am the ultimate decision in my own happiness. People know that I don’t get offended easily and won’t react much at all to anything said to me. My friend? she will take it to heart and has been in the mental hospital, she smoke’s weed almost every day and everyone knows it. This, society, is unfortunately  an easy target. One last thing, society makes of us what we make of it. Image

I’m a whole new breed (part 2)


Alright, in my last post I stated that this will be about “my history with suicide, my obsession, and who/how I am now).” So, I’m just going to jump into it. Life was crashing for me, I was cutting myself in unusual places (thighs, upper arms, hips, etc.) and wishing I knew someone I could get drugs from thinking they might numb my pain. I was the kid who needed attention so badly, that I tried breaking my own bones. In fact, trying to break my own bones now-and-then started when I was 8 years old and stopped when I was 15. I never succeeded; however, I did get many twisted ankles and badly sprained wrists. I was my own worst nightmare and nobody knew it… Except me. I was a lost soul who had few friends, all of which had depression issues, we all had different reasons though. Suicide was a bittersweet thought to me, I dreamt of a heaven or even hell, because at that point I just wanted a new life. I was consistently asking “why me?” “Where’s god when I need someone, anyone” or “what did I do to deserve to be treated this way” this was all when I was roughly 14 years old. My hardest years were when I was around 13-14, the years that nearly nothing went right for me. I researched ways to kill myself, I told myself the world was better without me. I wrote a million suicide letters in my journal and hid it where nobody would unintentionally find it. I wanted to know things like which way was easiest, which was the least painful, etc. However, it wasn’t enough for me. I needed to know for myself, so I tried holding a knife to my throat… I couldn’t do it. Then, I tried drowning myself… But it was too painful. Eventually, I took a long, fairly soft, belt and wrapped it around my neck with several knots in it. This time was different. I wanted it to be too hard to chicken out of, I wasn’t going to be a pansy this time. Soon enough, I was gasping for air and the room was slowly darkening. That’s the moment everything changed for me, I seen something I had never seen. I didn’t see a God n’or a Demond, I seen a little girl who meant everything to me, my niece. Cheesy, right?   She was like a sister to me and I thought of her like she was my own child even though she obviously wasn’t. I pictured a collage of things actually, like her crying when she found out and feeling the pain I felt the first time I lost someone relatively close to me. I pictured her in her 20’s looking gorgeous, but hiding a small amount of pain as if it were a scar on the back of her heart. I pictured how everyone would react, especially my friends who were depressed enough as it was. I seen it all, but within in the blink of a half-alive eye. At this point, I couldn’t do it; so, I tried getting the belt off my neck. It wasn’t untying, I couldn’t see the knots. Quickly, I rushed to my bathroom, my mirror reinforced how close to being over my life was at that point in time. The person looking at me was white as Casper, her lips were blue and she had dark purple bags under her eyes. This image slowed me down, but only for a moment, I was too determined to never see it again to let it be reality. I swiftly untied all the knots as I nearly fell down from gasping for air so badly. I was alive, but I didn’t want the memory to leave me… I Never wanted to do/see it again, so, like any other 13 year old… I took a pictures of the red lines on my neck. This was what made me be happy, knowing that I’m alive and even though I’m not a big deal, I realized I do serve a purpose. To my surprise, my mother found the picture in an album off my camera. Her reaction sounded like this: “*gasp* Candice, come here” I looked at her unknowingly and replied “yeah?” She looked back getting more angry and said “look at this picture! Is that your sister? God damn it, I bet her boyfriend did this to her. That looks like her hair.” I shyly admitted that it was a picture of me. This was when she snapped, the way no loving mother should, looked me in the eyes and said something along the lines of “what the fuck, don’t take pictures like that, someone might get the wrong idea.” She still has no idea that she was the one with the wrong idea; actually, I’m sure she’s forgotten all about it by now.


I mentioned that I’d discuss what I’m obsessed with, but it must’ve slipped my mind. The only obsession of mine that I can think of, is music and art. I love beautiful things; in fact, I made the picture attached to this post. Why I love music so much, is because it’s always been my escape route from life… Even if it’s only momentarily.


As for who I am now? I’m a girl who smiles every single day, because i’ve realized that anger is useless and tends to ruin things. I have no respect when for people when they yell or even raise their voice at me, it’s one of the things that still kill me inside. I love people, despite how quiet I can be. I’m not quiet because I’m shy, I’m quiet because I’d much rather listen to the tales told by another. I’m witty, I always know what to say when the time is right. I joke with people, when life’s rough you need a sense of humor. Depression still catches up with me from time to time; the difference? It goes away after a few weeks and I know how to control it. I dress in the clothes I like, even if some people still judge this book by its beautiful and intimidating cover. I’ve learned, and continue to learn, many interesting things and met some extraordinary people… My friends? Have come to peace with themselves too for the most part. However, most my new friends are older than me seeing as they understand when I talk about life. I told a boy my age (he asked me out, I barely knew him, but wanted change and agreed) that I wouldn’t have sex with him because rushing into things in the past resulted in me molested. He laughed and said “so if I have sex with you, you’re going to say I raped you?” I broke up with him literally after a day. I’m also a dreamer, I look at my future often and I’m going to get the gold no matter how hard it may be. I know I haven’t had the worst life, but I will never say my life was well paved… I know now that I can do anything if I want to badly enough.



Moral of my story: Be happy. As hard as life can be sometimes, it always gets better. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather live my life on a road with ups and downs than an ideal flat boring but “perfect” life.