Sometimes I am afraid to be too dismal.
Smile. Be positive. Set an example. Fuck you.
Because I’ve come to this place again, of questioning my body - and while most of the time I aim for acceptance and presence of mind, those things are hard to keep hold of, as a reality. As my reality.
So I keep asking myself over and over again, as if reminding myself will finally get me to accept that I am not always okay with my body, or my mental health, or my eating habits, and that it will pass. I just rather wish it would stop flipping like a goddamn switch.
Does my overwhelming love for spinach cancel out my overzealous gravitation to baked goods? Am I virtuously healthy enough yet, or will I surely die some vague future death that won’t stop haunting my mind?
You know the shit that surrounds you molds you. You know how to actively break it down. You know that aiming for good health rather than the slimness commonly (and incorrectly) associated with it is the better alternative.
But that slim figure, the one you’ve crafted in your brain from the moment you realized your fatness, is burned behind your retinas. And this perfected version has a tendency to want to block your view.
Why the fuck do I want to change my body? Because I was fine, until someone or something pulled the trigger - and I don’t have to sit here and take the fucking bullet.
It’s been a while.
I’ve been hearing this a lot lately. This is what I think about it.
There are no if’s, and’s, or BUT’s when it comes to body positivity.
ALL bodies are good bodies.