A Believing Heart is Your Magic

Day 5 of Wellbutrin. I’ve become an extroverted magical Japanese girl.

Sorry. I’ve just been watching too much Little Witch Academia.

The appointment last week went very well. The nurse practitioner suggested WB without my even having to ask.

So I’ve been taking it for five days. The NP said it would take up to 4-6 weeks to really hit a stride. I’m noticing a difference already. Before I started taking it, I feel like I gave preferential treatment to my depressive thoughts. On WB, I feel like I am standing at a distance to both my depressive thoughts (overeat, smoke, ignore Husband) and my functional thoughts (brush teeth, shower, clean, draw, write). Each group of thoughts has equal weight now, and if I turn towards the depressive thoughts it’s out of habit. Maybe as time goes by, I can train myself to turn more and more towards the functional thoughts. Break the habit.

One other thing I’ve noticed is that my constant irritation at being interrupted is nearly gone. When I came home on Friday, I was bombarded with the needs of others the second I stepped in the door. But the irritation wasn’t there. And it wasn’t there over the weekend too. I still overate and self-isolate, but that feels more like a choice than before. The desire to destroy the cuticles of my nails and leave them bloodied hasn’t gone, and in fact they are in an extremely poor state right now. But as the meds build up in my system, maybe I won’t give in to that compulsion as easily.

The punches are becoming easier to take. Just now, I went outside to have a smoke. Almost immediately, my smoker “buddies” gave each other looks, stubbed out their smokes and just went inside. At first I was like.. Well. What did I say? What did I do? Maybe they saw the state of my fingers. Maybe they just didn’t want to deal with my weird ass at that time. But it wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t send me spiraling into a self-loathing malaise like it might have. I just let it go.

I am waiting on a referral for therapy. I still need it. I find myself dealing with these realizations that sit heavy inside me, that ring true. I need help dealing with the physical and emotional neglect and abuse I suffered throughout childhood. I need help with the overwhelming need for approval that resulted from it. I need help working through the bitterness and unhealthy self-loathing that results from knowing I will never gain that approval. That being who I am, as a person, means the likelihood of approval is slim to none. I need help to stop perceiving other people as the enemy. To stop pushing others away when I think I won’t meet their expectations or if I perceive I’ve facked up socially.

I’ve been coming closer to a state of peace, over the last few months, but I have a ways to go still, and that will be hopefully sped up by a good therapist.

One day, maybe I’ll be someone who is naturally cheerful and lighthearted despite their shortcomings. That’s what I want to believe.

Blunt and Honest (Sassy Soulful Inner Southern Mama)

I don’t enjoy social subtlety with people that I am close to. I prefer open and blunt communication. The reason being, every time you leave your front door, to your coworkers, acquaintances, strangers on the street: it’s not real communication. It’s all a game. Small talk and the social contract.

What I like about the internet is that the standard flip flops. There is no pressure to be “nice.” People say exactly what they want, online, under the cover of anonymity. Which is why, on certain matters, I respect online strangers’ opinion more than that of people I know personally.

I don’t want to hide anything from people that are close to me. I want to have complete trust and openness that I can have no where else. But I can’t have it, unfortunately. My closest friends are not the same as me. The game of social niceties is still played. I can never be sure if they’re actually being truthful, or just “nice.”

This all comes back to the “You’re Beautiful” conversation, that I wish had never occurred. My husband and my “close” friend (not really that close or have much in common, I am coming to realize) both telling me, over and over, that I am pretty and I am not large-framed. Absolutely humiliating.

I don’t trust their words. Because my husband is my husband, he will always say I’m beautiful even if I had the plague. To his credit.

I especially don’t trust the close friend’s word. She is a body acceptance/SJW type who would also say I was beautiful even if I had the plague. “Every body is a good body.” Yes, all bodies are “good.” They are warm, and breathing, and each one has a destiny all of its own. Everyone deserves to live and be happy.

However, how much you can achieve happiness by is, unfortunately, is either aided or hindered by your physical appearance. If you don’t notice it happening, then you are probably attractive or just socially unobservant. It is a sad fact. It is reality. It is what my friend with her rose-tinted glasses can’t see, or at least can’t admit to herself. I acknowledge reality. I have never and will never turn away from the awful things of the world. Too many people do that as it is.

Maybe it has meant abandoning self-preservation, ruining the buffer and comfort of ideas such as what my friend subscribes to. But the clarity I feel is more valuable to me. Of course, that clarity sometimes doesn’t extend to myself. I don’t know if I can trust the way I interpret the mirror. Or, if I can trust people who only want to be nice, not honest.

So, for a straight opinion, I turned to the strangers on the internet. Yep. I know. How can that be a better solution? How? But it was, sadly. They have no obligation to be kind. Of course, they can also be cruel, but I can deal with that. It’s just the way the internet is.

After interacting with anonymous strangers that I provided with my picture, I’ve come to the conclusion that my face is not ugly. My jaw is not masculine. I’m just plain. And that’s okay, better than ugly.

I’m less okay with learning that no matter how much weight I lose, because of my wide hips, shoulders, and thick bull neck, I will always look overweight.
Part of me wants to throw a tantrum, screaming,”It’s not fair.”
I want to scream and cry that I was not born a “normal” woman, with narrow shoulders, small wrists and ankles, a slender neck, etcetera. I will always be a joke to others, the “fat” chick even if I have less than 20% body fat. And since I’m at 23% body fat, which is low-normal, it’s just awesome. So awesome.

Oh, no. It’s starting. Sassy Soulful Inner Southern Mama, activate.

Hey. You. Quit ruminating on it. It’s going to be alright. Fack everyone else, you are a survivor. You have already ensured your survival. You will never have to rely on your looks or femininity to make it. You don’t have to live the same sad life as your mother or your stepmother. It’s okay your body deviates from the norm, because your mind will take you further than your body ever will. It’s going to be fine, little girl.