nightmares

Dreams are fleeting. When you are sleeping, the sweetest of dreams fly away beyond your reach, beckoning you to find them again. As time progresses, the dream slowly fades from your mind, eventually evolving into nothingness. It never existed. It never happened.

But nightmares. Those are the dreams coated with glue. They stick. They're messy. They're a pain the the ass. Lately I have been having reocurring nightmares, so vivid I wake up just to reassure that I am still alive, safe in the comforts of my bed, at home. But I'm not safe in my own mind. Get me out.

My nightmares consist of me dying in an automobile crash. That thought haunts me at night, where my demons are already attempting to break free, to spread their wings. I'm particularly vulnerable and in sleep, that's where the thought roams free, takes it's own path.

Fuck nightmares.

Warped perspectives of self.

I've always had a shitty self esteem, shrouding around me like some kind of invisible smoke that refuses to dissipate. Thinking bad thoughts about myself has become my nicotine, so highly addictive that I can't even seem to shake them. BUT WHY. I don't really know, and I don't know if I could tell you why I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with coming from an asian family, where small frames are inevitable, and 100% genetic. So why wasn't I born like that, a size zero with perfect skin and cute features? Instead I came out half breed, with pimply, oily, skin, and a fat ass that refuses to fit in any jeans below a size 4. See how easily those words come out? They flow like rapids crashing through a dam, and it's, frankly, fucking impossible to stop them.

It's not normal, I know that. I look in the mirror and think of everything I could do to change myself, to make myself asthetically appealing to those around me. I wish I didn't think like that. Most people have something to blame for why such horrendous thoughts engulf their mind, but for me.. I don't have an excuse. When people ask me why I think so lowly of myself, (few know) I simply reply that people called me fat when I was younger. 

Who the fuck am I fooling? Only the people stupid enough to believe that. Damn, maybe I'm even fooling myself. 

No one ever called me fat when I was younger. Maybe a "chubby" remark like once in my life, but it was never reocurring. Never enough to take it to the extreme that I did. 

So why does my self esteem still dwindle? I can't tell you. All I can say is that it's crazy how I have such a warped perspective of myself. What I see in the mirror, I doubt other people see the same thing. Or maybe they do. Maybe they see this fucking ugly fat white chick, and maybe I'm crazy for thinking that they see the opposite. Or maybe people see me as a goddess, and I'm too blind to see beyond my own insecurities. 

I'm so done with the woe, is me, stuff. It's draining to focus all of this negative energy toward my body, so I want to do something to change this. No more obsessing over the way that my stomach looks in the mirror. No more squeezing my inner thighs, hoping that the fat will just dissipate beneath my fingertips. No more thoughts of starvation crossing my mind.

I'm fucking done. & the change starts now.