Mental Health Mondays: Struggling With Body Image
Hey, guys.
This week on Mental Health Mondays, I'd like to talk about something that affects every one of us in one way or another. Body Image: The way we see ourselves, how we think we look or perceive ourselves to be. For the longest time, I struggled with body image and acceptance. It was through people who loved me and their honesty, that I've been able to overcome a lot of my anxiety about the way that I look. I'm not meaning this to be selfish or vain, nor am I fishing for any sort of compliments. This comes from a place of deep upset, loathing and obsession. Ridicule from peers, comments from family and my borderline personality disorder coupled with bipolar and severe anxiety led me down a horrible and turbulent path. Today, I want to talk openly and honest about things that have bothered me over the years and the tips I learned to calm myself and to alleviate negative thoughts. Feel free to leave your stories, thoughts and or comments in the section below or via DM on my social medias! All the links will be available below!
I was always a self-concious child. I had a few friends in primary, but as we got older and changed schools, the friendships kind of fell away. At my new school, I wasn't popular in any sense of the word. I had one or two people I could talk to and maybe 3 I was friendly with. I was constantly bullied by my classmates and upperclassman. They called me a lesbian and all the lovely variations of that, freak, psycho and nutter. The ridicule never seemed to end for me. Each school I went to seemed to be worse than the last. I tried to make friends, only to find out they kept me around to make fun of me behind my back or for me to help them with their coursework. They didn't like me. No one liked me.
And for the longest time, my only friends were my bed and my stuffed Harry Potter doll. I used to take him to school even though I was 14. I'd keep him in my bag so I could feel the comfort of having a friend around. Unfortunately, some of my classmates found out and decided it would be hilarious to steal him from me and play keep away with him. They'd tell me who had him and I'd go and talk to that person only to be told they didn't have it and that I had mental problems. This game of taunt-keep-away lasted for a few weeks until I finally tracked down who had Harry. Meantime, every single night I would go home and cry. I'd lost my only friend. And some of the people involved in this sick, twisted game were supposed to be my mates.
When I found the boy who had him, I confronted him and asked for Harry back. He told me that I was a psycho, a loser and would be a "dyke-virgin" forever. I completely lost it. I chased him down the corridor and slammed his head into the steel doors at the end of the corridor in rage. Then I began to choke him, screaming at him that he didn't know what he was talking about. A teacher came out and caught me and I told them what he and a group had been doing to me over the past month. I wasn't punished for what I did to the boy, but was given a warning. I was lucky that it was my advanced biology teacher that had discovered the scene or I was likely to be expelled. He'd known about some of the things the kids were doing to me and had defended me on a few occasions. I'll forever be thankful to Mr Barret for what he did for me that year.
The game of keep-away really affected me. I became even more convinced that no one would ever like me and that I was just here as some sort of cosmic joke. I didn't even want to defend myself anymore. It didn't matter at all. My self-harm began to worsen. I was pretty much cutting my upper arms every night when I'd get home from school. I began stealing my parent's alcohol to try and escape the memories and the taunts. I stopped trying to make friends. I spiralled into the well of depression and took a handful of aspirin when I was 15 or so hoping that it would kill me. I hoped I'd bleed to death internally or something. When I woke up that morning, I didn't know how to feel. Lucky or sad. I kind of felt the same way each time I tried it.
Hearing people make fun of the way I looked probably was the most hurtful. They called me ugly, hideous, unloveable, munter, Cinderfella. All kinds of names imaginable. I began to believe no one wanted me. The thing that did destroy me when I was 15 was when I met a boy I liked who was in choir with me. He was 2 years older and was a musician. His younger sister was in my classes, so I got to know a bit about him from her without really asking. I fell hard for this older, suave, blue-eyed singer. I knew he was single and he would be riding the same bus as me home on certain days. I took it was a message from God. He wanted me to ask G out. So, one October afternoon, I sat with him on the bus and we got to talking. He didn't insult me and he really seemed into talking with me. Then I did it. I asked him out. He told me that he'd just broken up with his girlfriend and wasn't ready to date, but he'd let me know when he was ready. I got off at my stop feeling amazing. I'd swallowed my self-consciousness and asked a boy out for the first time! He didn't reject me! Maybe those other kids were just jealous that I had something they didn't.
The next day as I waited to see if I could sit with G on the bus again, I saw him kiss a tall, lanky blonde girl. Apparently, he was ready to date, he just didn't want me. I felt stupid and disgusted. Why did I believe it? Why did I ever think that he would go out with someone like me? Everyone was right. I was fat, ugly and retarded. I avoided him on the bus that night and for many months after. I began to hate myself in an all new level. I started to cut more and purge more often. I took tablets when I didn't need to just to feel the rush of knowing I could die. I wished that I was never born, that my parents would have just aborted me. I felt this way for almost 10 years. I still wonder why I'm even here after everything that's happened.
I get through these feelings with the help of my two best mates, Rosie and Jess. They get me on so many levels and don't bullshit me. They always encourage me to try, that there are other things that matter besides if you're single, fit or gorgeous. What matters is that I'm an intellectual who gives people relief and hope. They remind me that there will always be bad days with the good and they are there to help me when I need it. They understand my mood swings and anxiety. Writing this blog has also helped me as well as connecting with fans, other writers and artists all across the world!
When I start to despair, I think about some of the amazing things I've achieved, the amazing people I've met and what I've overcome so far. And when that doesn't work, I put on a film I love, sip some tea or dance around all crazy to music. Sometimes I'll get tattooed, go out to the shopping centre just to walk around or dive into one of my favourite books. I rely on my mates for a lot and I'm happy they know that I'm there for them just as much.
🚀LINKS 🚀
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AnjaAbsinthe/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ichliebebillah
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMcgrUtOSAkgNUlchw6NpZw
Also this week I'm doing a blog on Facial Tattoos on Tattoo Talk Thursdays! Be sure to Check that out! I also have a few new tattoo vlogs up on my YouTube channel! Please thumbs up the video and subscribe if you like the content!
I was always a self-concious child. I had a few friends in primary, but as we got older and changed schools, the friendships kind of fell away. At my new school, I wasn't popular in any sense of the word. I had one or two people I could talk to and maybe 3 I was friendly with. I was constantly bullied by my classmates and upperclassman. They called me a lesbian and all the lovely variations of that, freak, psycho and nutter. The ridicule never seemed to end for me. Each school I went to seemed to be worse than the last. I tried to make friends, only to find out they kept me around to make fun of me behind my back or for me to help them with their coursework. They didn't like me. No one liked me.
And for the longest time, my only friends were my bed and my stuffed Harry Potter doll. I used to take him to school even though I was 14. I'd keep him in my bag so I could feel the comfort of having a friend around. Unfortunately, some of my classmates found out and decided it would be hilarious to steal him from me and play keep away with him. They'd tell me who had him and I'd go and talk to that person only to be told they didn't have it and that I had mental problems. This game of taunt-keep-away lasted for a few weeks until I finally tracked down who had Harry. Meantime, every single night I would go home and cry. I'd lost my only friend. And some of the people involved in this sick, twisted game were supposed to be my mates.
When I found the boy who had him, I confronted him and asked for Harry back. He told me that I was a psycho, a loser and would be a "dyke-virgin" forever. I completely lost it. I chased him down the corridor and slammed his head into the steel doors at the end of the corridor in rage. Then I began to choke him, screaming at him that he didn't know what he was talking about. A teacher came out and caught me and I told them what he and a group had been doing to me over the past month. I wasn't punished for what I did to the boy, but was given a warning. I was lucky that it was my advanced biology teacher that had discovered the scene or I was likely to be expelled. He'd known about some of the things the kids were doing to me and had defended me on a few occasions. I'll forever be thankful to Mr Barret for what he did for me that year.
The game of keep-away really affected me. I became even more convinced that no one would ever like me and that I was just here as some sort of cosmic joke. I didn't even want to defend myself anymore. It didn't matter at all. My self-harm began to worsen. I was pretty much cutting my upper arms every night when I'd get home from school. I began stealing my parent's alcohol to try and escape the memories and the taunts. I stopped trying to make friends. I spiralled into the well of depression and took a handful of aspirin when I was 15 or so hoping that it would kill me. I hoped I'd bleed to death internally or something. When I woke up that morning, I didn't know how to feel. Lucky or sad. I kind of felt the same way each time I tried it.
Hearing people make fun of the way I looked probably was the most hurtful. They called me ugly, hideous, unloveable, munter, Cinderfella. All kinds of names imaginable. I began to believe no one wanted me. The thing that did destroy me when I was 15 was when I met a boy I liked who was in choir with me. He was 2 years older and was a musician. His younger sister was in my classes, so I got to know a bit about him from her without really asking. I fell hard for this older, suave, blue-eyed singer. I knew he was single and he would be riding the same bus as me home on certain days. I took it was a message from God. He wanted me to ask G out. So, one October afternoon, I sat with him on the bus and we got to talking. He didn't insult me and he really seemed into talking with me. Then I did it. I asked him out. He told me that he'd just broken up with his girlfriend and wasn't ready to date, but he'd let me know when he was ready. I got off at my stop feeling amazing. I'd swallowed my self-consciousness and asked a boy out for the first time! He didn't reject me! Maybe those other kids were just jealous that I had something they didn't.
The next day as I waited to see if I could sit with G on the bus again, I saw him kiss a tall, lanky blonde girl. Apparently, he was ready to date, he just didn't want me. I felt stupid and disgusted. Why did I believe it? Why did I ever think that he would go out with someone like me? Everyone was right. I was fat, ugly and retarded. I avoided him on the bus that night and for many months after. I began to hate myself in an all new level. I started to cut more and purge more often. I took tablets when I didn't need to just to feel the rush of knowing I could die. I wished that I was never born, that my parents would have just aborted me. I felt this way for almost 10 years. I still wonder why I'm even here after everything that's happened.
I get through these feelings with the help of my two best mates, Rosie and Jess. They get me on so many levels and don't bullshit me. They always encourage me to try, that there are other things that matter besides if you're single, fit or gorgeous. What matters is that I'm an intellectual who gives people relief and hope. They remind me that there will always be bad days with the good and they are there to help me when I need it. They understand my mood swings and anxiety. Writing this blog has also helped me as well as connecting with fans, other writers and artists all across the world!
When I start to despair, I think about some of the amazing things I've achieved, the amazing people I've met and what I've overcome so far. And when that doesn't work, I put on a film I love, sip some tea or dance around all crazy to music. Sometimes I'll get tattooed, go out to the shopping centre just to walk around or dive into one of my favourite books. I rely on my mates for a lot and I'm happy they know that I'm there for them just as much.
🚀LINKS 🚀
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AnjaAbsinthe/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ichliebebillah
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMcgrUtOSAkgNUlchw6NpZw
Also this week I'm doing a blog on Facial Tattoos on Tattoo Talk Thursdays! Be sure to Check that out! I also have a few new tattoo vlogs up on my YouTube channel! Please thumbs up the video and subscribe if you like the content!
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