blurred vision

I’ve been on this earth for a decent amount of time. Whilst perhaps not long in some people’s eyes, I’ve been around long enough to feel and get an idea about a few things. 

I feel as if I am currently in a period of growth. And whilst technically growth is consistently occurring, these past 6 months have felt like something more. 

Perhaps it is just this stage in my life, or perhaps I have just become more aware of what is around me and how I respond. 

Regardless, the tsunami and tornados of life have well and truly struck. 

I’ve written about this topic before, perhaps a bit unoriginally I’d now say, re-typing body image speeches that I had overheard into my own words. 

But here we are again, in the ever consuming realm of body dysmorphia and self-confidence, attempting to pull ourselves out of the quick sand that is body issues. 

I can preach. We all can. We all have this power to spin things positively and think better. And in a lot of cases I think it’s a good thing. Manifestation, positive thinking, positive change. 

But, today I’ve decided not to do that. Whilst we can hope things get better, they often feel far from it, and this my darling readers is an insight into it all. Maybe you can relate, perhaps I’m just putting a part of myself into this endless online realm for strangers to digest. Who knows but I guess its happening. 

What do you do when you can’t even trust your own eyes? 

Sometimes I look at this girl in the mirror and I feel as if I could spend hours breaking her apart. Going from limb to limb, bone to bone and analysing every part that is her. Yet despite these however long gazes, I’d still have no comprehension of what she looks like.  

I could stare all day at that face in the mirror, and still see her completely different hours later.

Some days I avoid my appearance, avoid the watcher in the reflection for she exhausts me. Her forever changing appearance and subsequent moods tire me, making the sheer reality of looking at myself a chore. 


When I think about it, it's not the fact that my appearance lowers me, or I am really that self conscious. I think it's the fact that I don't know how to feel about it at all. 

Sometimes I wish I could wake up and hate everything I see in the mirror, for the stress of having to decipher between real and fake is often too much to handle. 

Is that too harsh? To confess to the world that sometimes I actively want to hate myself? Sounds depressing, perhaps concerning and whilst ultimately I promise you I am okay, it’s pretty close to the truth.

One can look in the mirror, yet can they really see what is in front of them? I’d like to hope that I can put faith in what is in front of me, yet when it comes down to it, can our eyes not be our biggest betrayer?

The aimless scrolling through old photos only heightens the self confusion, leaving a person in awe of the shape they once possessed, confused as to how they could ever hate that body that now only lives in a screen. 

Some days I like her, that girl in the mirror, somewhat proud and content. Other days, she makes me feel low, a nice mixture of mellow and shyly disappointed. 

It's exhausting, not knowing how to feel about one self. Can I trust my own vision? My own perception? Or am I being deceived? 

Is this body dysmorphia? Am I seeing things, falsifying and dramatising shapes that aren’t there? Or is this what others see? 

The endless cycles and questions leave me in a daze, a muddle which always feels inescapable. So mirrors are avoided, bare skin covered and confidence lowered, for it is easier to avoid my body rather than decipher my feelings toward it. 

- o