(via alittletoofragile)

(via degenerateroyalty)

(via raeandthewords)

(via black-and-white)

(via dearbuddha)

(via dancewiththepeople)

(via alittletoofragile)

What on earth do you do in the face of constant failure?
Try, try again they say. Stay positive another thousand will tell you.
Despite staying ‘positive’ and ‘starting-afresh’ each day, i have utterly failed.

I ultimately hate my physical being, and have met no goals.
How positive can one stay after such a degree of time?
Ultimately i can blame no one but myself, making suffering that much more intolerable.
The mirror becomes a nightmare, revealing nothing but your worst fears and insecurities.

It becomes a method of comparison, a method that you convince yourself will not lie to you.

The mirror helps you recognise your flaws.
Promptly after helping, it will play upon and laugh at you, as you pinch your fat and admit your insecurities.

Methods of self affliction do not help.
The feeling of acid crawling up your throat with each heave upon your stomache, and the taste of digested food upon your tongue, before being disposed of in the basin, ultimately leaves you feeling even more guilty of your shameful body.

Convinced that this up-heaving, nightly tradition would be temporary…it has proven to become a miracle when i do not meet with the toilet bowl late at night, in a personal and painful matter.

The pressure of physique has proven controling and defines my very nature, actions and outlook upon life each day.
Is this right? I assume not.
However, when idolising women, many of those whom are uplifted are aesthetically pleasing.
I cannot blame the media, i attentively listen to and am intrigued by society’s skewed views of beauty, life and love.
However, i have become swept in its clutches, and have no intention to fight from its grip.

So where does that leave me?
It leaves me in a constant struggle for self-control, self-acceptance and acceptance from anyone at all.

Glamorous,i know.
Dramatic, perhaps.
Inevitable? yes.

(via exploringflickr)