Tag Archives: self love

Depression as a woman

Imagine feeling empty, sad, hopeless, worthless, directionless and lost.

Anxious and panicky, sensitive to lights, sounds and casual words.

Couple that with monthly intense mood swings, tears that flow easily, body aches and exhaustion, need for sleep throughout the day, aching back and swollen breasts.

Now your emptiness and loneliness is heightened with the consistent flow of blood and unfertilised eggs.

My brain becomes a ticking alarm clock reminding me it’s time for my pill again.

Its choice of alarm tune?

The urge to pop handfuls of pills, to get knock out drunk, to do something, anything to mute the mind and feelings. She doesn’t scream at the back of my mind anymore, but her toxic breath fogs the brain in the meantime.

Up till I take that little pill and go to bed. Things are better when I wake up. But in between, there’s no guarantee what the subconscious will unleash on my sleeping mind.

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Understanding my fear of abandonment

Let’s break it down.

Fear of abandonment.
Afraid to be left behind, to be left alone, to be alone.
To be ignored.
Fear of neglect, silence, disregard.

Fear of a lack of care and concern.
Fear that I am unloved and unwanted.
Fear that I am not worth

attention
attraction
affection

Panic sets in with a fog of fury,
rage and discontent,
outrage and offence,
disbelief and shock.

Worry and anxiety
leading to a need for control
to “get them back”

win them back

their attention and attraction back
putting me once again at number one,
the only one,
nothing should precede me and what I mean to them.

Clingy, desperate, eager to please
yes yes yes to everything just to get a positive response,
to know I am wanted and desired again.
With that, I am therefore kept.

I won’t be alone and tossed aside and made worthless,
useless,
not worth time and effort or love.

Nothing else matters but them behaving as I wish them to be,
or even just how they were talking to me a couple minutes ago.
Even if I was the reason for the change in tone

because I suggested we slow things down
and they just leave me because I don’t want them

and they oblige instead of disagreeing and fighting for me

if they Do fight for me, they appear clingy and I get disgusted.

Ironic.

But when I do it, it’s the only thing that I can do. I can’t focus on anything else but trying to “get them back” and get things back to how they were, to being wanted and loved, to having them text me.

I don’t care that it’s 2am now compared to the 7pm then. That they have work tomorrow or are busy right now, even if they are showering. If they aren’t replying, that means they don’t want me anymore and they might even hate me and are going to ignore me and give me the silent treatment and pretend I do not exist.

 

 

My mom gives me the silent treatment and pretends I don’t exist when she’s angry at me.

When I do something wrong, my parents tell me what a disappointment I am, that their years of bringing me up was for nothing because I ended up like this. It was a waste of their time and effort raising me up, useless to have done anything to have loved me.

They said cruel things like I am the worst child, that I am nothing if my mother dies, that they won’t care if I live or die and I can go and die for all they care.

When they get angry at me, I feel like the worst, cruelest human being on earth, that I don’t deserve to have lived and I am evil. Ungrateful, evil, worthless, not worth being looked at or talked to, mentioned by name or acknowledged as a living being. I become nothing. Ranted about in the third person behind closed doors but with loud petty voice who intend for me to hear everything, yet not worth the effort nor for my existence to be acknowledged by even talking about me in front of me and having me be seen.

 

I would watch as they argued and my dad would blame my mom saying she was at fault for everything, while she told him how useless he was.

I listened and took it in too, because it would be used on me too, the same words. Taught not to get a man like my father, here are all the things NOT to get in a man. Anyone who looked at me and called me beautiful and took what I told them, repackaged and gave it back to me, paid me a smidge of attention, was worth my world. Sad.

I accepted these guys though I knew they weren’t good people or healthy for me because I accepted that my worth was that of being second choice. Never first. That’s why all the married men. Justifying with open marriages is but a weak way to assert my false self-worth to stubborn ol’ me. That’s why till now, part of me thinks that my exes’ breaking up with me because I wasn’t worth being the only one when he was still so young, and not talking to me for a whole week (radio silences) because studies > talking to me, which he felt were tedious like updating his life to a jail warden, are somehow justified.

Why should I be afraid to have them not text back or initiate conversations, to have other people in their lives that aren’t me, or not prioritize me over every and anything. That’s so needy. So dependent. I am worth so so much more.

It’s just not apparent enough to myself just how much I’m worth though.

 

Gotta fix the two of them. Self-worth tied to fear of abandonment, and I have to work on them or I will fall forever into this tar pit of murky, cloying desperation and fear, neediness and full-blown panic attacks, extreme behaviours and controlling habits.

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An Argument for Being Fat

I am fat.

Now some of you might call me curvy, and others might call me plump. The Mandarin speaking folk would call me 丰富 or abundant in English.

But I know my weight vs height and I know from the clothes that are too tight. I am fat. And while it’s not good for my health, it’s done wonders for my esteem.

Back when I lost a ton of weight and could fit tight clothes, my outward fit bod was but a vessel for my insecurities and self hatred to manifest. My exercise and makeup and clothing did not belong to me, but to the desire for male attention. My body, free from cellulite, was not free from the shackles of disrespect for myself. 

I gave myself to boys and men, gave my heart and mind to any who wanted a toy. I was a prey but a cruel predator as well, sex driven, or rather sex manipulative. All I wanted was to be loved, because I needed to not be unloved. I was hurt and I hurt. The cycle continued.

But then, came 2016. I made mistakes still up to the middle of the year where the weight started to pile on as the pressures of joblessness coupled with staying at home daily took over. After that, an intense 3 months of work that went from chronic diarrhea to binging for relief. 

Now I stand heavy. But confident. I worked for money but left with experience. Working world experience. Skills acquired from necessity and desperation. From responsibilities.

I knew my worth as a worker. Somehow that led to realisations about my worth as a person. As a woman. As me.

Boys and men alike were cast aside when they knew only of games and touch. No longer did I spare a second nor a thought on frivolous attention when my own were occupied with the career ladder. I moved on to a wider view on life, and moved away from childish perspectives on self love.

But what has this got to do with being fat, you say? Well I allowed myself to grow fat because I was moving away from seeing my body as the first point of notice for men. I allowed myself to expand because I indulged my cravings and tastebuds for me, and no one else. I gave myself permission to be lazy because I acknowledged that this body and its health is my own, not for the pleasure of others.

And perhaps now that I’m more self aware and appreciative, I will start to get back in shape and watch my health. But because I am fat and still love myself and my body with all its creases and lumps and stretch marks and bulges, when I am fit and trim and healthy and strong, I will love myself just as much. 

The attention of others will no longer factor in this strictly confidential relationship between myself and I.

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I am a woman

I am a woman.
I bleed once a month, for typically 7 to 10 days.
I crave food, chips, carbs and sleep the week before,
my mood dips and I cry while laughing at everything.

I am a woman.
I have hair on my legs, under my arm,
on my arm, on my crotch,
between my breasts,
under my belly button.

I am a woman.
I am blessed with the privilege of creating a child in my womb.
I won’t be judged for liking feminine clothes.
I can like men without being labelled “unnatural”.

I am a human.
I am able to feel a plethora of emotions and
I am also able to feel nothing at all.
I am a female human.
I am a woman.

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