The Bad Days

The days where it’s bad are the worst.

Any view of it looks wrong.

Every view of it looks wrong.

It warps and twists, shoving me down into a spiral of anxiety and fear.

It looks worse and worse every second I see it, everything warping.

I want to look away, to tear my eyes from the reflection of it, but I feel stuck,

Stuck looking at my flaws, growing larger and more visible.

It hurts to look at.

I’ve got to cover it, save others from seeing it, save myself from looking at it.

The constant anxiety and nausea after seeing it hurts.

It’s easy to slip out of reality but hard to come back.

I’m constantly judging myself, spitting remarks.

Not good enough. Suck in. Why are you even still here? Beauty is pain. 

“But You are just insecure!”

If I am just insecure, then why do I “forget” to eat most days? 

If I am just insecure, then why do I want to cry every time I see my own face?

If I am just insecure, then why do I try to look better, prettier, when I see my body?

The way I act when I see myself isn’t normal. Isn’t okay. Yet I can’t stop. It hurts me so much. It makes me so tired, keeping me up at night. I want to suck in until I can’t. Until there’s nothing left.

Because of the way that society has been built,

I won’t be pretty enough until I am skinny enough to fit the smallest size.