i remember when i lived in Dublin, i didn’t have a care in the world. i think it was one of the happiest periods in my entire life.

[youtube width="425" height="25"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DChHEf0lpEE[/youtube]

why do we do the things we do? i never wanted to care this much. i never wanted to hurt anyone. i never wanted to be hurt in return. i never wanted to be here. im sick of feeling inadequate. feeling like i’ll never be the one. i’ll never be good enough. i’ll never be pretty enough. i wont be skinny enough. i wont be who you want me to be.

i try. i try ever damn day. nobody knows how much it hurts me to pretend like it’s okay. like im okay. like im happy. like it’ll all work out okay in the end. it’s never going to be okay. i can’t change anything. i can’t fix what’s already broken. i can’t fix myself for christs sake. i can’t do anything right.

every time things start to look up for me, i do something stupid or something comes in the way and it’s ruined again. i keep falling, and i keep getting back up, but im so tired of falling. i don’t want to trip over my own feet every damn day. i want a life i can be proud of. i want friends who don’t suddenly turn their backs on me over a summer. i want family close to me. i want to wake up in the morning and not dread getting out of bed.

i just want things to be so different.

but i’m me, and i’ll never be that person. i’ll struggle every damn day.

and it doesn’t help that you put me down all the time. you think you’re such a bigger person but you forget that we all make mistakes. i’m not the first person to mess up, and i wont be the last. hopefully someday you’ll realise that your words hurt as well. you’ll realise that the more you make me work, the less i’ll want to. you can’t make someone want something. the more you push, the more i push away. one day i’ll walk away. because we can’t keep this up. and if it means that i’ll have to be the stronger person and walk away from an unhealthy situation, maybe one day you’ll thank me instead of punishing me for wanting to be happy.

I may not look it, but i feel fanfuckingtastic. A cheeky girls night out is what i needed. A jug of alcohol (no joke), a couple of idiots trying to chat me up, a few cheeky texts from people, and some sketchy journalists trying to follow me home..

i know not a lot of that sounds appealing but it’s made me feel ALIVE. i’m still living, weather it’s alone or with someone else, i’m alive, i’m living my life. it’s mine, and nothing or no one can take this from me.

daddy’s in town and i couldn’t be happier.. well if the sun came out i wouldn’t mind. off for a jog in regent’s park now!

“practice what you preach” but sometimes it just isn’t as simple as that. truth is i believe every single woman/guy out there should love themselves inside and out. we should embrace our bodies and make the most of what we’ve got. but everyone’s allowed to struggle. everyone’s allowed to have bad days when they look in the mirror and hate everything they see. these days shouldn’t consume our lives. as much as i want all of this to be as easy as it is to write, it isn’t. i’ve struggled, i’ve failed to let it not consume my life. i gave into the temptation of having a perfect body years ago, and i’m still paying the price.

i still haven’t come to terms with my body. sometimes i love myself, and some days i look in the mirror and fall to pieces. i still haven’t come to terms with the fact that i will never be happy with my body. i will never entirely love myself inside and out. now i know this sounds horrible, and sometimes frightening to those struggling, but it’s a part of recovery. it’s acknowledging that my eating disorder is, and always will be, a part of me. it’s also acknowledging that i don’t have to give into the temptations of forcing my body into a certain ideal that i believe is beautiful.

i’ve considered the alternatives to being unhappy with my body for eternity. the alternatives scare me though. for example, plastic surgery. the amount of times i’ve sat staring at clinic websites, figuring out when i’d have time to “recover” and how i’d afford to pay for it. then the reality kicks in, and i think to myself where would i draw the line? where’s the limit? if i got my boobs done, what’s to stop me from fixing my nose. then what about a cheeky little liposuction. then what about filling my lips, and the list just continues. i’m scared that if i started something that adjusted my body to make me happier, i’d go down the same road that i went down with bulimia. i don’t want anything to control me, i don’t want to change myself in order to fit into an ideal that i didn’t mean to create. i don’t want to be unhappy because i can’t have the body i want.

then again, i already am. i envy girls with flat stomachs, skinny thighs, narrow hips, big boobs. mostly because i know i will never have any of that. i will never be the ‘ideal’ me. but the hardest part of “knowing” this is accepting it.

i’m currently in limbo. i know there’s nothing i can do to make it right, but i still want to try. i still want to diet, i want to exercise, i want to be that girl. i just don’t know how to accept it entirely, and i’m scared that i never will.

sometimes i wish i would’ve done everything different. when i say sometimes, i mean every damn day of my life. i wish i could go back in time and change everything. but it wasn’t up to me, it wasn’t just me who created the situation, and that’s the most important thing to remember as a ‘user’. no matter what kind of addiction you have.

it’s never your fault.. entirely. yea i fucked up for myself a lot, and i continued to do it, but it wasn’t just me. i wasn’t the only reason everything went to shit.

i wish i could change things, i honestly do. maybe then i’d be happy today, maybe i’d be content with my life. maybe i wouldn’t wake up every morning worrying if i had enough money to buy lunch. maybe i wouldn’t have wasted a year at a shit university. maybe i wouldn’t be paying so much money for an education. maybe i’d love myself. maybe i’d forgive the people in my life. maybe i’d forive myself. maybe i’d be normal.

but i’m not.

and that’s what i have to live with. i have to live with the fact that i fucked up the best years of my life. i ruined them, and now im wasting ‘the second best years of my life’ on shit. i sat here acting normal because i have no other choice.

i hate it all sometimes. i hate being me 75% of the time but i hide it so well.

just like i hid my eating disorder, i hide my unsatisfaction. i wondering if i’ll ever be truly honest with myself.

but i know i never will be, it’ll stick with me for the rest of my life. i’ll never be HAPPY, i might be satisfied at the most.

i hate it. i hate my life now. i wish i wouldn’t have met the amazing people that i’ve met in london, i wish i wouldn’t have had the amazing experiences i’ve had in london, because it’d be easier to leave.

i could leave without having any feelings or emotions left behind. i love this place, i love my university, and i love where i live.

but.. my life revolves around money. i wake up every morning wondering if i’ve got enough in my wallet to live. enough to buy a decent meal. enough to spurge on a bottle of wine for five pounds. and i hate it. i hate living on 70 pounds a week, when everyone around me lives on 150+. im jealous, im jealous all the way through. i just wish i had the carefree life i took advantage of when i was younger.

i wish i could go back in time and change EVERYTHING. believe me i would..