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It has finally occured to me why I am neither thin, nor rich, nor coupled off, nor as happy as I should be. It’s the self same reason I struggle with inner peace, impulse control, and self sabotaging behavior.

I have spent my whole life trying to be the person I wanted to be. This is an ever changing adn impossible to achieve goal. It only makes me feel shitty, and I am mired in basic inadequency and lack of self worth.

It has always been so, since the beginning of my memories practically and my consciousness of myself as a person. But I pray it will not always be so.

Because this is wat unites the times of binge and self starving famine; this is what myperiods of ennui and laziness have in common with my hyperactivity- the belief that no matter what I do it’s not enough, happiness is somewhere beond the horizeon, and I cannot be content with the way I am now.

And I realize that both extremes are self rejection; the stagnancy i have felt for a few years, and all the muck and self sabotage and self loathing comes from the fact I finally recognized I can’t be who I thought I should be, and I am not now, as a so called adult, doing anything like what I expected.

I am not the person I thought I would be, and it’s taken me a while to mourn the dreams that did not come to fruition. But what I have missed, and what’s been a bit pathetic, is the fact that perhaps what did come about, even if not by my design, has been so much richer and multifasceted and profound than what I had envisioned for myself.

My period of disillusionment and sloth makes complete sense in light of the fact that I never felt like my chage efforts took genuine root in me, nd the more I became and achieved the more I felt there was to go. I suppose I took some pride in myself along the way.

And self acceptance is not self indulgence. Going in the opposite direction fo who I wanted to be and staying stuck in a rut to avoid the pain of failing hasn’t helped much either.

I know the only way to get out of this is to accept myself, to beocme more of myself, and to know that the most genuine part of me isn’t my flaws.

It’s my courage, my heart, my perseverance, my goodness, my honesty, my sensuality, my sweetness, my curiosity.

I am not an obese inner child and I am not a compulsively dieting perfectionist 14 year old either.

I am a woman recovering from hating herself. And realizing that it wasn’t just me that decided to hate me, it was the whole world who was afraid of a strong woman and an independent thinker, who wanted to turn me into a sheep instead of a hero.

But here I am.