This is a place of encouragement, a place to discuss body image, insecurities, self-esteem, and everything under the umbrella of fighting self-hate and finding self-love.

No matter what you look like, what color, what gender, sexual orientation, what size or however many "flaws", healthy, not healthy, working on it, abled, disabled, we are all human, we all deserve to be happy, we all deserve to love ourselves. With this blog you will see all kinds of REAL bodies, REAL people, REAL stories.

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-BE AWARE some posts may be triggering depending on submissions, check for trigger warnings and tags. Also any harassment will be met with blocking and a report to Tumblr Support

 

Hi. I’m Diana. For the past couple of years, I have been SO insecure about my body. I’m about 5’0 and 145 pounds. I’ve gotten to points where I break down crying because people hate me because of my weight and looks. But I recently found this site, read some stories, and I feel SO much better about my self. You guys raised my self-esteem and I’m so proud of your bravery with posting the pictures and stories. Keep it up <3
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Hi. I’m Diana. For the past couple of years, I have been SO insecure about my body. I’m about 5’0 and 145 pounds. I’ve gotten to points where I break down crying because people hate me because of my weight and looks. But I recently found this site, read some stories, and I feel SO much better about my self. You guys raised my self-esteem and I’m so proud of your bravery with posting the pictures and stories. Keep it up <3

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My whole life I have hated who I am and how my face looks, slowly but surely I am beginning to love myself. I have a big forehead, big cheeks, big hips, big arms, generally big everything, but I think it is beautiful. We are all beautiful, we are all unique. You could be overweight, underweight, normal, you are STILL beautiful as you are. You may not see it, but I guarantee someone will, you just need to wait.
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http://foreverfearingcontact.tumblr.com/

My whole life I have hated who I am and how my face looks, slowly but surely I am beginning to love myself. I have a big forehead, big cheeks, big hips, big arms, generally big everything, but I think it is beautiful. We are all beautiful, we are all unique. You could be overweight, underweight, normal, you are STILL beautiful as you are. You may not see it, but I guarantee someone will, you just need to wait.

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http://foreverfearingcontact.tumblr.com/

Hey lovelies! I&#8217;m Ruthi I&#8217;m pretty much just starting to accept my body for what it is. I went through a few years of hating it and doing everything I could to make it smaller, including struggling with bulimia. I&#8217;ve finally come to be at peace with my body. I actually ~love~ it. I like my love handles- I think they&#8217;re cute! I love my boobs and I&#8217;m starting to be okay with my butt.
xoxo
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www.brighteyedfuture.tumblr.com

Hey lovelies! I’m Ruthi I’m pretty much just starting to accept my body for what it is. I went through a few years of hating it and doing everything I could to make it smaller, including struggling with bulimia. I’ve finally come to be at peace with my body. I actually ~love~ it. I like my love handles- I think they’re cute! I love my boobs and I’m starting to be okay with my butt.

xoxo

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www.brighteyedfuture.tumblr.com

con·ceit·ed
Pronunciation: -ˈsē-təd\
 Function: adjective
1 : ingeniously contrived : fanciful
2 : having or showing an excessively high opinion of  oneself
Why do people use this word as if it’s negative? As if conceited and condescending are interchangeable.
Conceited.
       It’s one of those words my acquaintances like to use to describe me, followed by an explanation usually containing the words and phrases “you love yourself too much”, “egotistical”, and “vain”. First of all, I didn’t know it was possible to love anything “too much”. Are we putting a limit on love, people? As much as I’d enjoy being like most females, crying about how fat I am and how no one will ever love me, I’d much rather focus on the progress of life and bettering myself and, believe me, there’s plenty of bettering to do.
       I’m not perfect. Eh, maybe I am. Perfect is subjective. I am beautiful, not to be confused with more beautiful. See the difference? That’s how I feel.
       My eyes are squinty. My eyesight is terrible. My hair is unruly. I have a keloid on my right ear the size of a pea. My chin breaks out when I get stressed and my forehead wrinkles when I raise my eyebrows. The horizontal lines around my neck look like fat rolls in the right lighting. My shoulders are speckled with a darker shade of brown-black. I have to wear prescription strength deodorant so I don’t sweat through t-shirts. There are stretch marks on both sides of my waist. My wrist bones are so big, wearing a watch is awkward. I have fat hands. The scars right below my navel resemble a happy trail. My thighs touch. My thighs jiggle. My inner thighs are covered in discoloration that looks like stretch marks. Two days is the maximum I can go without shaving my legs. My ankles are so big that they used to knock together when I ran. I have wide feet and short toes.
       I’ve never been out of the country. I was never close to being a straight-A student once I started high school. I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until I was 12 or 13 years old, but I’d always had one to learn on. There’s nothing I’m exceptionally good at. I am a college dropout. I haven’t found my passion in life yet and have no idea as to what it may be. I’ve never been on a plane. I’m not good at sports. I graduated from an arts academy and have no extraordinary talent to show for it. I never understood football until February of my senior year of high school. I don’t like to read.
       I’m impatient and indecisive. My dislike for planning interferes with my ability to stay organized. Making an F in a class barely phases me, but losing my hairbrush makes me want to punch something small, cute, and undeserving. I get cranky when I don’t get enough sleep or don’t get my way. My sarcasm hurts feelings, I’m sure of it, yet I have no desire to change it. I have no regret for the hearts I’ve broken. I’m a procrastinator. I hate extremely serious situations. I cry easily. I am deathly afraid of rejection. 
Want to know the worst part?
I love every bit of it.
So call me conceited. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I kinda like it.
[www.iamthekj.tumblr.com]

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con·ceit·ed
Pronunciation: -ˈsē-təd\
 Function: adjective
1 : ingeniously contrived : fanciful
2 : having or showing an excessively high opinion of  oneself

Why do people use this word as if it’s negative? As if conceited and condescending are interchangeable.

Conceited.

       It’s one of those words my acquaintances like to use to describe me, followed by an explanation usually containing the words and phrases “you love yourself too much”, “egotistical”, and “vain”. First of all, I didn’t know it was possible to love anything “too much”. Are we putting a limit on love, people? As much as I’d enjoy being like most females, crying about how fat I am and how no one will ever love me, I’d much rather focus on the progress of life and bettering myself and, believe me, there’s plenty of bettering to do.

       I’m not perfect. Eh, maybe I am. Perfect is subjective. I am beautiful, not to be confused with more beautiful. See the difference? That’s how I feel.

       My eyes are squinty. My eyesight is terrible. My hair is unruly. I have a keloid on my right ear the size of a pea. My chin breaks out when I get stressed and my forehead wrinkles when I raise my eyebrows. The horizontal lines around my neck look like fat rolls in the right lighting. My shoulders are speckled with a darker shade of brown-black. I have to wear prescription strength deodorant so I don’t sweat through t-shirts. There are stretch marks on both sides of my waist. My wrist bones are so big, wearing a watch is awkward. I have fat hands. The scars right below my navel resemble a happy trail. My thighs touch. My thighs jiggle. My inner thighs are covered in discoloration that looks like stretch marks. Two days is the maximum I can go without shaving my legs. My ankles are so big that they used to knock together when I ran. I have wide feet and short toes.

       I’ve never been out of the country. I was never close to being a straight-A student once I started high school. I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until I was 12 or 13 years old, but I’d always had one to learn on. There’s nothing I’m exceptionally good at. I am a college dropout. I haven’t found my passion in life yet and have no idea as to what it may be. I’ve never been on a plane. I’m not good at sports. I graduated from an arts academy and have no extraordinary talent to show for it. I never understood football until February of my senior year of high school. I don’t like to read.

       I’m impatient and indecisive. My dislike for planning interferes with my ability to stay organized. Making an F in a class barely phases me, but losing my hairbrush makes me want to punch something small, cute, and undeserving. I get cranky when I don’t get enough sleep or don’t get my way. My sarcasm hurts feelings, I’m sure of it, yet I have no desire to change it. I have no regret for the hearts I’ve broken. I’m a procrastinator. I hate extremely serious situations. I cry easily. I am deathly afraid of rejection. 

Want to know the worst part?

I love every bit of it.

So call me conceited. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I kinda like it.

[www.iamthekj.tumblr.com]

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I&#8217;m beautiful in my way &#8216;cause God makes no mistakes I&#8217;m on the right track baby I was born this way Don&#8217;t hide yourself in regret Just love yourself and you&#8217;re set I&#8217;m on the right track baby I was born this way
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I’m beautiful in my way
‘cause God makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don’t hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you’re set
I’m on the right track baby
I was born this way

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I&#8217;m Louise, I am 5&#8217;8&#8221;and about 175 pounds. I am fourteen.
I have always believed, that everyone is equally beautiful, no one is more "pretty" or "hot" then anyone else, but, unfortunately, some recent events have caused me to be less uncomfortable in my own skin than ever before.
I have been overweight my entire life, until about I was 9, I was completely oblivious to that. When I went to a museum with school, there was an area where you got weighed, and your height was measured, and you got told your BMI. Of course, I thought it was a fun game. Boy, I was wrong, the cruel, awful man, whose face I see everyday told me "You are overweight". I regret walking over to that area all the time.
When I was in Grade 7, I was about 11; I was yet to turn 12 yet, as my birthday is in mid November. A girl in my class, gave everyone a Christmas card, in mine it said “Merry Christmas Blue whale”. She thought she was incredibly witty and smart, I don’t think she cared how much this affected me. I still see her walking down the halls, and in some of my classes, it makes me sick to look at her face.
My parents keep telling me “LOSE WEIGHT FOR YOUR BROTHERS WEDDING” The caps is needed, since they yell it at me every time. I can’t lose weight, I just can’t, to be truthful, I like food. I want to lose weight, but I don’t, I can’t.
Since the universe hates me, I couldn’t gracefully slide through puberty, when my breasts kicked in, guess what I received? Stretch marks, yay! On my hips, top of my thighs, around my breasts, on my upper arm. I will never be able to wear a bikini, which I have always wanted to do, people where I live, they judge. If I went outside in a bikini, I wouldn’t be able to live it down, not now not ever.
Jump forward 3 years, here I am, 14 years old. In this last year, another thing has decided to make me feel worse about myself. Mid last year, I had hurt my leg, unable to have a shower, because I couldn’t get my leg dressing wet. The beginning of the end, a lovely friend of mine, acne, decided to pay me a little visit. I had never been big on washing my face, since, my skin had been clear, and due to that reason, I got pimples, and more pimples, and more pimples, and then comes the red marks, the marks that just won’t fade. Dear lord, I’m crying now. I haven’t even gotten teased about it, it just makes me so incredibly insecure. I hate makeup, it just doesn’t work on my skin. I hate how my friends complain about their 2 pimples, when I feel so ugly, so hideous. My skin could be worse, but when I look in the mirror, it looks 10x worse than it actually is. I have tried everything and all, nothing works, now my skin is actually effecting my family, because I’m so grumpy, I have huge mood swings. My father hates me. All because of my skin.
My Mum has said “We need to take you to a therapist”. I can’t do that. I can’t do anything. I hate everything about my stupid little life. I just wish I looked like everyone else.
A lot of this might not seem to link together, but it isn’t supposed to be perfect. I hope that someday, I love myself, but that won’t happen in the near future.
BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

I’m Louise, I am 5’8”and about 175 pounds. I am fourteen.

I have always believed, that everyone is equally beautiful, no one is more "pretty" or "hot" then anyone else, but, unfortunately, some recent events have caused me to be less uncomfortable in my own skin than ever before.

I have been overweight my entire life, until about I was 9, I was completely oblivious to that. When I went to a museum with school, there was an area where you got weighed, and your height was measured, and you got told your BMI. Of course, I thought it was a fun game. Boy, I was wrong, the cruel, awful man, whose face I see everyday told me "You are overweight". I regret walking over to that area all the time.

When I was in Grade 7, I was about 11; I was yet to turn 12 yet, as my birthday is in mid November. A girl in my class, gave everyone a Christmas card, in mine it said “Merry Christmas Blue whale”. She thought she was incredibly witty and smart, I don’t think she cared how much this affected me. I still see her walking down the halls, and in some of my classes, it makes me sick to look at her face.

My parents keep telling me “LOSE WEIGHT FOR YOUR BROTHERS WEDDING” The caps is needed, since they yell it at me every time. I can’t lose weight, I just can’t, to be truthful, I like food. I want to lose weight, but I don’t, I can’t.

Since the universe hates me, I couldn’t gracefully slide through puberty, when my breasts kicked in, guess what I received? Stretch marks, yay! On my hips, top of my thighs, around my breasts, on my upper arm. I will never be able to wear a bikini, which I have always wanted to do, people where I live, they judge. If I went outside in a bikini, I wouldn’t be able to live it down, not now not ever.

Jump forward 3 years, here I am, 14 years old. In this last year, another thing has decided to make me feel worse about myself. Mid last year, I had hurt my leg, unable to have a shower, because I couldn’t get my leg dressing wet. The beginning of the end, a lovely friend of mine, acne, decided to pay me a little visit. I had never been big on washing my face, since, my skin had been clear, and due to that reason, I got pimples, and more pimples, and more pimples, and then comes the red marks, the marks that just won’t fade. Dear lord, I’m crying now. I haven’t even gotten teased about it, it just makes me so incredibly insecure. I hate makeup, it just doesn’t work on my skin. I hate how my friends complain about their 2 pimples, when I feel so ugly, so hideous. My skin could be worse, but when I look in the mirror, it looks 10x worse than it actually is. I have tried everything and all, nothing works, now my skin is actually effecting my family, because I’m so grumpy, I have huge mood swings. My father hates me. All because of my skin.

My Mum has said “We need to take you to a therapist”. I can’t do that. I can’t do anything. I hate everything about my stupid little life. I just wish I looked like everyone else.

A lot of this might not seem to link together, but it isn’t supposed to be perfect. I hope that someday, I love myself, but that won’t happen in the near future.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Here&#8217;s a picture of me with no make-up and my lovely scars. My name is Andrea and I have a disorder not many people know about&#8230; Dermatillomania.
 Dermatillomania is a disorder not many people know about; the word essentially means being obsessed with the appearance of your skin. It is another word for skin picking. Skin-pickers may stand in front of the mirror for hours and hours closely examining their skin while scratching and picking at what they perceive to be flaws in hopes of achieving a flawless perfect complexion (“Compulsive”). Skin-pickers never achieve this though because instead of making their skin flawless, they tear it to shreds, making themselves bleed, and creating scars and wounds that get picked at again and again. Skin-pickers pick everywhere—their face, back, arms, legs, chest, etc. They do this damage to themselves because they want to achieve the high standard of being “perfect.” This standard from society comes from…you guessed it, the media.  okay so here&#8217;s my life story.. 
middle school and the first year of high school was fine. i&#8217;m a very shy girl, never confident, so i depended on my looks as an ice breaker. ever since the end of middle school.. i really cared about my appearance. its basically how people talked to me. no one knew anything about my personality because i hardly ever talked, only at home or to my friends. i never spoke up in class, just because i knew people would be looking at me.. and then they would see my appearance and that just freaked me out. i spent 2 hours everyday getting ready in the morning. i remember getting up at 5:30am everyday just to cake on the makeup, do my hair, try on a million outfits. if i didnt look perfect, then id have no friends, thats what i thought. the only way someone would talk to me (i figured) was if i looked pretty.then came sam (name changed) 4 years older than me. i met him at the end of my freshmen year. he was a great guy. he had a car. money. he was older, and that was just &#8220;so cool.&#8221; he told me i was beautiful, smart, amazing. and i believed him. we dated for a very long time. almost 2 years. he was my first love. i fell very hard for him. he was my first kiss, my first everything, we did everything (physically wise) except sex. he wanted to have sex.. but I wasn’t ready.. so we didn&#8217;t. i&#8217;m glad haha.then came the day when he broke up with me. I was a mess. I was crying bloody murder. He was everything to me. And I figured the only reason he broke up with me was because I wasn’t good enough. So starts the picking. I was picking my face everyday. Every flaw. Every bump. Everything had to be off my face and perfect. I started comparing myself with every girl I saw. Flipping through magazines, looking at billboards. I wanted to look flawless. Then I would be happy like the smiling faces in the magazines. My whole day depended on how I looked in the mirror. I would check the mirror every chance I could. After every class, I would go to the bathroom. It was like the mirror was calling my name. I couldn’t focus in class anymore. I was so depressed after the whole breakup, I would unconsciously pick my skin on my scalp, my back, my face. Anywhere I could dig my fingers into my skin. The funny thing is, I hateee blood. I faint at the sight of it. But when I see blood dripping down my face or my back or my shoulders or my scalp from me picking my skin, I think “I deserve that.” It doesn’t really hurt anymore, the pain is numb to me. Im so used to it. It’s a terrible habit. When I first started picking, I didn’t think it was a problem. I didn’t know other people did it too.One night.. about 3 years ago, in December. I was bawling my eyes out on the phone with my best friend. I was talking about the whole sam breakup and that I was so depressed and how my whole life depended on my appearance. She told me I needed help. I knew it too. I was so scared to ask though. My parents thought I was this perfect little angel, so it was embarrassing to ask for help. I came to my mom in the middle of the night, bawling my eyes out, telling her I wanted to see a therapist. I always thought therapists were for psychos, but when I started seeing one.. and I realized they weren’t. in the waiting room, I saw “normal” looking people, they looked perfect, they looked like they had no problems. They looked like me.. perfect on the outside, but probably a mess on the inside. So I meet with my therapist- I tell her the whole sam story. I told her my jealousy problems and that I compare myself a lot to other people. I didn’t tell her about my picking, because I didn’t know it was a problem. So we mainly worked on the robby thing. I eventually got over him, I built my confidence, I grew a lot from seeing a therapist, It was probably the best thing I had ever done with my life.But my picking continued. One day I was so frustrated with my habit, that I googled it. Little did I know, skin picking is a problem that other people have too. I read blogs, I read tips and tricks on how to stop, how to build confidence, how to not give a damn about your appearance. I tried a lot of things. Covering the mirrors in my room. Spending less time getting ready in the morning. Playing with play doh to keep my hands busy. I did a lot of things, but nothing stuck. The most ive gone without picking was 2 days. I even bought a 40 dollar book called the broken mirror, that’s all about body dysmorphic disorder.Then.. beginning of senior year. Enter mark (name changed). He was amazing. Super funny, smart, cute, strong. Everything I wanted in a guy. We both fell head over heels for eachother. We dated for 7 months. Long story short, he dumped me at a school dance. I cried for so long. I skipped school just because I started crying in class. I canceled plans with my friends all the time because my picking got so bad that I felt way too ugly to go out. I fell way harder for him than I did sam. We got back together last summer, and that was one of the dumbest things id ever done. Bc I just fell for him all over again. I told him about my picking. He tried to help. But it didn’t work that well. The picking got super bad when he dumped me. Then I started shoplifting, with my friend sara (name changed). It started off with sunglasses, then we worked up to bigger things, jeans, shirts, even shoes. The adrenaline rush was amazing, knowing we got away with stealing something that would only make us “cooler” because we had expensive items that we got for free. It was the exact same rush I got from picking. It took the stress away. As does running. Which is why I love to run.Anyway, long story short, we got caught at the end of the summer. For stealing 2 pairs of jeans. sara blamed the whole thing on me, even though she did it with me. The tape in the dressing room proves it. We went to jail, scariest day of my life. sara wanted to blame it all on me because she had a scholarship to college and she didn’t want to lose it. She told me she would split the fines with me. I believed her. But im glad I never went through with that. I told my parents, and I fessed up to all the lies. They were soooooo mad. To this day, they still don’t trust me. I had to get a lawyer. Had to pay fines. And go to court. Now im on probation for a year, and I owed my parents over 2000 dollars. Goodbye graduation money. I fucked up my summer with that ordeal. I was grounded until I left for college. I felt like such a failure. My picking was the worst it has ever been. I couldn’t see my friends, I felt like nothing because everyone hated me for the mistake I made, it was horrible. I started seeing another therapist. This time I told her about the picking.. and the shoplifting. She helped quite a bit, but I only saw her a couple times because I had to leave for college.so then august 18th came. (2 years ago) And I moved in to my dorm. Hello new life. Hello new friends. Time to start over. I wasn’t gonna tell anyone about my past. But I learned it helps to vent. So I told my roommate and another close friend on my floor. They have been trying to help me everyday. I figured that living in a dorm would help because the bathrooms are public, and I would never pick in a public place. But most of the time, there is no one in the bathoom. So pick away I went. A couple times, people have caught me picking. Very embarrassing. One day I was so fed up with my picking that I wanted to slam my fist in the mirror. I hate mirrors so much. I mean, why do they even exist???!! Who cares what you look like, right? So I called the health center here at my college. And I got myself my a therapist. I saw her every Monday at 1pm. She helped a lot with my picking. And we talked about other stresses in my life. It helps to be at school because I stay busy and im not always in the mirror, like I am at home. Thanksgiving break was very bad last year, the picking happened constantly. Probably because I had nothing better to do. i was put on 3 different meds, prozac, budpropion (sp?) and some other medicine that i cant think of the name, not all at the same time lol but i was on them each for a few months and then i moved on to the next. nothing worked. nowadays, my picking is a little better. i&#8217;m not on any meds and i dont see a therapist anymore. i try to stay busy with school but school stresses me out so much so i run to the mirror to take out my stress. i try to wear fake nails, i avoid washing my hands in front of a mirror so i use hand sanitizer. all my mirrors at home are covered. I would be sooo much happier if I could get over my picking and was more confident in my self. Im just taking it one day at a time, and praying to God everyday that I get through this.read my blog if you want, (www.tumblr.com/skincrazy) and tell me your story. i would LOVE to hear it! and most of all&#8212; LOVE YOURSELF. don&#8217;t EVER equate your appearance to your self worth.
BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Here’s a picture of me with no make-up and my lovely scars. My name is Andrea and I have a disorder not many people know about… Dermatillomania.

Dermatillomania is a disorder not many people know about; the word essentially means being obsessed with the appearance of your skin. It is another word for skin picking. Skin-pickers may stand in front of the mirror for hours and hours closely examining their skin while scratching and picking at what they perceive to be flaws in hopes of achieving a flawless perfect complexion (“Compulsive”). Skin-pickers never achieve this though because instead of making their skin flawless, they tear it to shreds, making themselves bleed, and creating scars and wounds that get picked at again and again. Skin-pickers pick everywhere—their face, back, arms, legs, chest, etc. They do this damage to themselves because they want to achieve the high standard of being “perfect.” This standard from society comes from…you guessed it, the media. 

okay so here’s my life story.. 

middle school and the first year of high school was fine. i’m a very shy girl, never confident, so i depended on my looks as an ice breaker. ever since the end of middle school.. i really cared about my appearance. its basically how people talked to me. no one knew anything about my personality because i hardly ever talked, only at home or to my friends. i never spoke up in class, just because i knew people would be looking at me.. and then they would see my appearance and that just freaked me out. i spent 2 hours everyday getting ready in the morning. i remember getting up at 5:30am everyday just to cake on the makeup, do my hair, try on a million outfits. if i didnt look perfect, then id have no friends, thats what i thought. the only way someone would talk to me (i figured) was if i looked pretty.

then came sam (name changed) 4 years older than me. i met him at the end of my freshmen year. he was a great guy. he had a car. money. he was older, and that was just “so cool.” he told me i was beautiful, smart, amazing. and i believed him. we dated for a very long time. almost 2 years. he was my first love. i fell very hard for him. he was my first kiss, my first everything, we did everything (physically wise) except sex. he wanted to have sex.. but I wasn’t ready.. so we didn’t. i’m glad haha.

then came the day when he broke up with me. I was a mess. I was crying bloody murder. He was everything to me. And I figured the only reason he broke up with me was because I wasn’t good enough. So starts the picking. I was picking my face everyday. Every flaw. Every bump. Everything had to be off my face and perfect. I started comparing myself with every girl I saw. Flipping through magazines, looking at billboards. I wanted to look flawless. Then I would be happy like the smiling faces in the magazines. My whole day depended on how I looked in the mirror. I would check the mirror every chance I could. After every class, I would go to the bathroom. It was like the mirror was calling my name. I couldn’t focus in class anymore. I was so depressed after the whole breakup, I would unconsciously pick my skin on my scalp, my back, my face. Anywhere I could dig my fingers into my skin. The funny thing is, I hateee blood. I faint at the sight of it. But when I see blood dripping down my face or my back or my shoulders or my scalp from me picking my skin, I think “I deserve that.” It doesn’t really hurt anymore, the pain is numb to me. Im so used to it. It’s a terrible habit. When I first started picking, I didn’t think it was a problem. I didn’t know other people did it too.

One night.. about 3 years ago, in December. I was bawling my eyes out on the phone with my best friend. I was talking about the whole sam breakup and that I was so depressed and how my whole life depended on my appearance. She told me I needed help. I knew it too. I was so scared to ask though. My parents thought I was this perfect little angel, so it was embarrassing to ask for help. I came to my mom in the middle of the night, bawling my eyes out, telling her I wanted to see a therapist. I always thought therapists were for psychos, but when I started seeing one.. and I realized they weren’t. in the waiting room, I saw “normal” looking people, they looked perfect, they looked like they had no problems. They looked like me.. perfect on the outside, but probably a mess on the inside. So I meet with my therapist- I tell her the whole sam story. I told her my jealousy problems and that I compare myself a lot to other people. I didn’t tell her about my picking, because I didn’t know it was a problem. So we mainly worked on the robby thing. I eventually got over him, I built my confidence, I grew a lot from seeing a therapist, It was probably the best thing I had ever done with my life.

But my picking continued. One day I was so frustrated with my habit, that I googled it. Little did I know, skin picking is a problem that other people have too. I read blogs, I read tips and tricks on how to stop, how to build confidence, how to not give a damn about your appearance. I tried a lot of things. Covering the mirrors in my room. Spending less time getting ready in the morning. Playing with play doh to keep my hands busy. I did a lot of things, but nothing stuck. The most ive gone without picking was 2 days. I even bought a 40 dollar book called the broken mirror, that’s all about body dysmorphic disorder.

Then.. beginning of senior year. Enter mark (name changed). He was amazing. Super funny, smart, cute, strong. Everything I wanted in a guy. We both fell head over heels for eachother. We dated for 7 months. Long story short, he dumped me at a school dance. I cried for so long. I skipped school just because I started crying in class. I canceled plans with my friends all the time because my picking got so bad that I felt way too ugly to go out. I fell way harder for him than I did sam. We got back together last summer, and that was one of the dumbest things id ever done. Bc I just fell for him all over again. I told him about my picking. He tried to help. But it didn’t work that well. The picking got super bad when he dumped me. Then I started shoplifting, with my friend sara (name changed). It started off with sunglasses, then we worked up to bigger things, jeans, shirts, even shoes. The adrenaline rush was amazing, knowing we got away with stealing something that would only make us “cooler” because we had expensive items that we got for free. It was the exact same rush I got from picking. It took the stress away. As does running. Which is why I love to run.

Anyway, long story short, we got caught at the end of the summer. For stealing 2 pairs of jeans. sara blamed the whole thing on me, even though she did it with me. The tape in the dressing room proves it. We went to jail, scariest day of my life. sara wanted to blame it all on me because she had a scholarship to college and she didn’t want to lose it. She told me she would split the fines with me. I believed her. But im glad I never went through with that. I told my parents, and I fessed up to all the lies. They were soooooo mad. To this day, they still don’t trust me. I had to get a lawyer. Had to pay fines. And go to court. Now im on probation for a year, and I owed my parents over 2000 dollars. Goodbye graduation money. I fucked up my summer with that ordeal. I was grounded until I left for college. I felt like such a failure. My picking was the worst it has ever been. I couldn’t see my friends, I felt like nothing because everyone hated me for the mistake I made, it was horrible. I started seeing another therapist. This time I told her about the picking.. and the shoplifting. She helped quite a bit, but I only saw her a couple times because I had to leave for college.

so then august 18th came. (2 years ago) And I moved in to my dorm. Hello new life. Hello new friends. Time to start over. I wasn’t gonna tell anyone about my past. But I learned it helps to vent. So I told my roommate and another close friend on my floor. They have been trying to help me everyday. I figured that living in a dorm would help because the bathrooms are public, and I would never pick in a public place. But most of the time, there is no one in the bathoom. So pick away I went. A couple times, people have caught me picking. Very embarrassing. One day I was so fed up with my picking that I wanted to slam my fist in the mirror. I hate mirrors so much. I mean, why do they even exist???!! Who cares what you look like, right? So I called the health center here at my college. And I got myself my a therapist. I saw her every Monday at 1pm. She helped a lot with my picking. And we talked about other stresses in my life. It helps to be at school because I stay busy and im not always in the mirror, like I am at home. Thanksgiving break was very bad last year, the picking happened constantly. Probably because I had nothing better to do. i was put on 3 different meds, prozac, budpropion (sp?) and some other medicine that i cant think of the name, not all at the same time lol but i was on them each for a few months and then i moved on to the next. nothing worked. nowadays, my picking is a little better. i’m not on any meds and i dont see a therapist anymore. i try to stay busy with school but school stresses me out so much so i run to the mirror to take out my stress. i try to wear fake nails, i avoid washing my hands in front of a mirror so i use hand sanitizer. all my mirrors at home are covered. I would be sooo much happier if I could get over my picking and was more confident in my self. Im just taking it one day at a time, and praying to God everyday that I get through this.

read my blog if you want, (www.tumblr.com/skincrazy) and tell me your story. i would LOVE to hear it! and most of all— LOVE YOURSELF. don’t EVER equate your appearance to your self worth.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!


Hello everyone! I&#8217;ve been thinking about whether or not to post my story up, but after seeing so many courageous pictures and reading so many uplifting stories, I&#8217;ve decided to post mine as well.
How to begin&#8230; Well, I&#8217;ll admit that up until the 3rd grade, I was a fairly skinny girl. I liked wearing girly things and buying Barbie Dolls. However, when I reached the 3rd grade, my eating habits became out of control. I would eat huuuuuge portions of food. At school, I&#8217;d eat my regular school lunch with a chocolate chip cookie every day. When I got home, I&#8217;d complain about being hungry and eat again. Around dinnertime, I would fill my whole plate up with rice. And when I mean whole, I meant WHOLE plate. And it was just the rice. After I put my rice on my plate, I poured whatever soup, meat, or fish my mom cooked on top and finish it all within 5-10 minutes. And because I finished so fast, the feeling of being full didn&#8217;t register, so I&#8217;d immediately come back for seconds. To aid my thirstiness, I would drink 2-4 glasses of Sprite or Coke. Eating like this never bothered me when I was younger, because I was only 8 and I wasn&#8217;t exactly huge.
But by the time I got into 4th grade, my eating habits caught up with me and I wasn&#8217;t skinny anymore. I was an overweight 9 year old girl. Insecurities poured in immediately. When I looked in the mirror, I cringed. My hair was long, I wore glasses, I could barely fit into my jeans (in fact, my zipper was always unzipped because of this), I had to wear Large shirts instead of cute shirts, and I had a huge gap in between my two front teeth. I was embarrassed with the way I looked. And what made me even more embarrassed was that my best friend (who&#8217;s still my best friend &#8216;till this day despite the distance) was a beautiful, skinny girl. Next to her, I felt like the ugliest girl in the world, but she was my best friend. I couldn&#8217;t believe the hate and jealously I had towards her. She was so sweet and loving and always gave me gifts, but I would always look at her body and think, &#8220;Why can&#8217;t I be like her?&#8221; All the guys had crushes on her. &#8220;Why can&#8217;t I be pretty like her?&#8221; 
Also, around that time, I began to grow hair on my face. Some might call it &#8220;peach fuzz&#8221;, but not mine. The hair on my upper lip was visible in lightness or in darkness. I began to hate myself. I would look in the mirror and think, &#8220;Why am I so ugly?&#8221; I&#8217;ve blocked it out until now, but I remember the kids at my school making fun of me for the hair on my face. I was devastated. It hurt me so much when they said that to me. One day, I was extremely vulnerable and when I looked in the mirror, I evaluated my face again. Hairy. Ugly. Fat. Only knowing its use, I grabbed my dad&#8217;s razor and tried to shave it off. Since I didn&#8217;t use shaving cream or water, I immediately bled. But parts of the hair was gone, so I did it to the other side, too, and regrettably, I bled there also. I also remember my mom warning me never to shave any part of my body, because it&#8217;d grow back 5x more longer, but at that time I didn&#8217;t care. I felt so ugly and hairy. I was jealous of my own best friend and I wanted a boy&#8212;any boy&#8212;to at least have a crush on me. (And of course, it didn&#8217;t happen&#8230; It just stopped the bullying for awhile)
Then I entered the 5th grade and I was still overweight, but not as much as 4th grade. But 5th grade was when I first got my period, so the hormones came pouring in. I began to get pimples everywhere. My forehead was the main area of my problems. I also began to grow more hair on my upper lip and on my stomach. Not only was hair a problem, but the gap in between my two front teeth was even more noticeable. I’d smile in mirrors and I’d feel like crying, because of how huge a gap it was. Since then, when I laughed, I’d cover my mouth with my hand so people wouldn’t see how ugly my teeth were. Undoubtedly, I felt even uglier, but since I had the right set of friends, no one ever commented on my appearance. 
Then, 6th grade happened and it felt the same just as my past years in school. I grew hair up to my butt, because my friend told me I looked pretty (and now looking back on it, I wasn&#8217;t pretty&#8212;at all), I wore thicker sets of glasses, because my eye sight got 100000x times worse, and I was very, very, very fat. During 6th grade, I went to the Philippines for my second time and I was extremely excited to see my cousins, aunts, and uncles. But when I got there, everyone commented on my appearance. Although they assumed I couldn&#8217;t understand what they were saying, I knew what they said. &#8220;Oh my! She&#8217;s so big!" When they said that, I was confused on whether or not to take it as a compliment or an insult, so I just smiled meekly, which was why they thought I couldn’t understand. Then I met a few more titas and titos and they all exclaimed the same thing, but with a few more words. Tambok.Tambok means fat. One of my uncles went on to say in English, &#8220;You know what? America made you fat! America makes you fat!&#8221;I knew he was joking, because he laughed afterwards, but having that said in plain English to my face destroyed my self esteem completely. I was devastated. I knew I was fat, but there were nicer ways of saying it. From then on there, I hastily decided that I never wanted to go back to the Philippines until I got skinnier. 
Then in 7th grade, I cut off all my hair and got a Rihanna bob. I thought I looked pretty, but my hair grew at a fast rate, so by the time first semester ended, my hair looked unnatural. Also, by that time, the pimples on my forehead spread to my upper lip and nose. I began getting nasty whiteheads and cysts on my upper lip. Whiteheads weren&#8217;t the only thing on my upper lip, thought. There was still the hair. The hair on my upper lip definitely grew longer than before, but I was too scared to use a razor in fear that it&#8217;d only grow longer. I would always dream of the day I asked my mom to let me get it waxed.  I always looked myself in the mirror and think, &#8220;I wonder if there will be a day when I actually will get prettier.&#8221; The hair was also visible in my wonderful unibrow. I use the term wonderful loosely. Around that time, my close guy classmate would always comment about the hair on my lip or the pimples on my face and every time he did, it was like a punch in my stomach. He wasn&#8217;t a bad person, but he was just really blunt. His words hurt, but I&#8217;d always pretend like I didn&#8217;t care. During winter break, I bought a cream specifically for the removal of the hair on my upper lip from Wal Mart and I’ve been using it ever since (I tried waxing myself, but it only ended up in pain). Also around that time, I got braces, so I was fairly happy about my appearance. 
Still worried about my weight, I would check it regularly. I was never the thinnest girl and I’d always remember the day in 5th grade when we had our annual evaluations by the nurse. We’d all line up in the hallway and the nurse would check our weight in front of everyone. I remember being so insecure in front of the guys. I remember my weight being 105. But that was 5th grade and by the time I got to the 7th grade, I was 147, almost 150 pounds. When I reached 149 lbs, that’s when I set myself straight. “No more eating more than you’re supposed to.” I googled information about going on diets and would go on websites that calculated what your calorie intake should be. I didn’t really work out then. I just ate less and I lost about 20 lbs. 
By the time I got into the 8th grade, I was 127 lbs. That was also around the time my sister and I began to “compete” against each other. My older sister was without a doubt, always skinnier than I was. We were “sorta” close back then, but I wouldn’t take it so seriously. When I started losing weight, she noticed immediately and always had something to say about it. She would “accuse” me of not eating right or going on a diet (going on a diet was a strong word when I was younger in my family. When my family thought of a diet, they thought “starving yourself”). She made me feel even worse about myself. Then, she was in tennis and she worked out non-stop. I’ll always remember the devastating day I heard her throwing up from outside of her bathroom. You guessed it. She was bulimic. Hurt and anger filled up inside of me. Here she was, accusing me of not eating properly or going on diets and she was the one who was throwing up after every meal? After that, our connection with each other stopped. 
And well, now, I’m gonna go ahead and skip Freshman year, because that has been a good year for me. Now I’m a sophomore and I’m still not okay with the way I look. I’ll admit, I’ve gone a long way when it comes to appearances, but I know that there’s more I can do with myself. I’m not gonna shoot for some crazy goal weight. I’ve just really always wanted to weigh in the teens. It’s been my goal since forever and lately, my self esteem has just been rotten. I always tell myself I’ll never get there, but I know I will. As you can see from my pictures, my acne is still as bad as ever and I still get whiteheads and cysts, but I’m still waiting for the day I’ll be comfortable in my own skin and love myself wholeheartedly. 
PS, I think every girl who posts up their stories are beautiful and amazing. It’s so inspiring to hear others’ stories and to know that I’m not alone. If you guys have any tips on losing weight, I&#8217;d appreciate it if you&#8217;d message me! tambokazngirl.tumblr.com  
BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Hello everyone! I’ve been thinking about whether or not to post my story up, but after seeing so many courageous pictures and reading so many uplifting stories, I’ve decided to post mine as well.

How to begin… Well, I’ll admit that up until the 3rd grade, I was a fairly skinny girl. I liked wearing girly things and buying Barbie Dolls. However, when I reached the 3rd grade, my eating habits became out of control. I would eat huuuuuge portions of food. At school, I’d eat my regular school lunch with a chocolate chip cookie every day. When I got home, I’d complain about being hungry and eat again. Around dinnertime, I would fill my whole plate up with rice. And when I mean whole, I meant WHOLE plate. And it was just the rice. After I put my rice on my plate, I poured whatever soup, meat, or fish my mom cooked on top and finish it all within 5-10 minutes. And because I finished so fast, the feeling of being full didn’t register, so I’d immediately come back for seconds. To aid my thirstiness, I would drink 2-4 glasses of Sprite or Coke. Eating like this never bothered me when I was younger, because I was only 8 and I wasn’t exactly huge.

But by the time I got into 4th grade, my eating habits caught up with me and I wasn’t skinny anymore. I was an overweight 9 year old girl. Insecurities poured in immediately. When I looked in the mirror, I cringed. My hair was long, I wore glasses, I could barely fit into my jeans (in fact, my zipper was always unzipped because of this), I had to wear Large shirts instead of cute shirts, and I had a huge gap in between my two front teeth. I was embarrassed with the way I looked. And what made me even more embarrassed was that my best friend (who’s still my best friend ‘till this day despite the distance) was a beautiful, skinny girl. Next to her, I felt like the ugliest girl in the world, but she was my best friend. I couldn’t believe the hate and jealously I had towards her. She was so sweet and loving and always gave me gifts, but I would always look at her body and think, “Why can’t I be like her?” All the guys had crushes on her. “Why can’t I be pretty like her?” 

Also, around that time, I began to grow hair on my face. Some might call it “peach fuzz”, but not mine. The hair on my upper lip was visible in lightness or in darkness. I began to hate myself. I would look in the mirror and think, “Why am I so ugly?” I’ve blocked it out until now, but I remember the kids at my school making fun of me for the hair on my face. I was devastated. It hurt me so much when they said that to me. One day, I was extremely vulnerable and when I looked in the mirror, I evaluated my face again. Hairy. Ugly. Fat. Only knowing its use, I grabbed my dad’s razor and tried to shave it off. Since I didn’t use shaving cream or water, I immediately bled. But parts of the hair was gone, so I did it to the other side, too, and regrettably, I bled there also. I also remember my mom warning me never to shave any part of my body, because it’d grow back 5x more longer, but at that time I didn’t care. I felt so ugly and hairy. I was jealous of my own best friend and I wanted a boy—any boy—to at least have a crush on me. (And of course, it didn’t happen… It just stopped the bullying for awhile)

Then I entered the 5th grade and I was still overweight, but not as much as 4th grade. But 5th grade was when I first got my period, so the hormones came pouring in. I began to get pimples everywhere. My forehead was the main area of my problems. I also began to grow more hair on my upper lip and on my stomach. Not only was hair a problem, but the gap in between my two front teeth was even more noticeable. I’d smile in mirrors and I’d feel like crying, because of how huge a gap it was. Since then, when I laughed, I’d cover my mouth with my hand so people wouldn’t see how ugly my teeth were. Undoubtedly, I felt even uglier, but since I had the right set of friends, no one ever commented on my appearance. 

Then, 6th grade happened and it felt the same just as my past years in school. I grew hair up to my butt, because my friend told me I looked pretty (and now looking back on it, I wasn’t pretty—at all), I wore thicker sets of glasses, because my eye sight got 100000x times worse, and I was very, very, very fat. During 6th grade, I went to the Philippines for my second time and I was extremely excited to see my cousins, aunts, and uncles. But when I got there, everyone commented on my appearance. Although they assumed I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I knew what they said. “Oh my! She’s so big!" When they said that, I was confused on whether or not to take it as a compliment or an insult, so I just smiled meekly, which was why they thought I couldn’t understand. Then I met a few more titas and titos and they all exclaimed the same thing, but with a few more words. Tambok.Tambok means fat. One of my uncles went on to say in English, “You know what? America made you fat! America makes you fat!”I knew he was joking, because he laughed afterwards, but having that said in plain English to my face destroyed my self esteem completely. I was devastated. I knew I was fat, but there were nicer ways of saying it. From then on there, I hastily decided that I never wanted to go back to the Philippines until I got skinnier. 

Then in 7th grade, I cut off all my hair and got a Rihanna bob. I thought I looked pretty, but my hair grew at a fast rate, so by the time first semester ended, my hair looked unnatural. Also, by that time, the pimples on my forehead spread to my upper lip and nose. I began getting nasty whiteheads and cysts on my upper lip. Whiteheads weren’t the only thing on my upper lip, thought. There was still the hair. The hair on my upper lip definitely grew longer than before, but I was too scared to use a razor in fear that it’d only grow longer. I would always dream of the day I asked my mom to let me get it waxed.  I always looked myself in the mirror and think, “I wonder if there will be a day when I actually will get prettier.” The hair was also visible in my wonderful unibrow. I use the term wonderful loosely. Around that time, my close guy classmate would always comment about the hair on my lip or the pimples on my face and every time he did, it was like a punch in my stomach. He wasn’t a bad person, but he was just really blunt. His words hurt, but I’d always pretend like I didn’t care. During winter break, I bought a cream specifically for the removal of the hair on my upper lip from Wal Mart and I’ve been using it ever since (I tried waxing myself, but it only ended up in pain). Also around that time, I got braces, so I was fairly happy about my appearance.

Still worried about my weight, I would check it regularly. I was never the thinnest girl and I’d always remember the day in 5th grade when we had our annual evaluations by the nurse. We’d all line up in the hallway and the nurse would check our weight in front of everyone. I remember being so insecure in front of the guys. I remember my weight being 105. But that was 5th grade and by the time I got to the 7th grade, I was 147, almost 150 pounds. When I reached 149 lbs, that’s when I set myself straight. “No more eating more than you’re supposed to.” I googled information about going on diets and would go on websites that calculated what your calorie intake should be. I didn’t really work out then. I just ate less and I lost about 20 lbs.

By the time I got into the 8th grade, I was 127 lbs. That was also around the time my sister and I began to “compete” against each other. My older sister was without a doubt, always skinnier than I was. We were “sorta” close back then, but I wouldn’t take it so seriously. When I started losing weight, she noticed immediately and always had something to say about it. She would “accuse” me of not eating right or going on a diet (going on a diet was a strong word when I was younger in my family. When my family thought of a diet, they thought “starving yourself”). She made me feel even worse about myself. Then, she was in tennis and she worked out non-stop. I’ll always remember the devastating day I heard her throwing up from outside of her bathroom. You guessed it. She was bulimic. Hurt and anger filled up inside of me. Here she was, accusing me of not eating properly or going on diets and she was the one who was throwing up after every meal? After that, our connection with each other stopped.

And well, now, I’m gonna go ahead and skip Freshman year, because that has been a good year for me. Now I’m a sophomore and I’m still not okay with the way I look. I’ll admit, I’ve gone a long way when it comes to appearances, but I know that there’s more I can do with myself. I’m not gonna shoot for some crazy goal weight. I’ve just really always wanted to weigh in the teens. It’s been my goal since forever and lately, my self esteem has just been rotten. I always tell myself I’ll never get there, but I know I will. As you can see from my pictures, my acne is still as bad as ever and I still get whiteheads and cysts, but I’m still waiting for the day I’ll be comfortable in my own skin and love myself wholeheartedly.

PS, I think every girl who posts up their stories are beautiful and amazing. It’s so inspiring to hear others’ stories and to know that I’m not alone. If you guys have any tips on losing weight, I’d appreciate it if you’d message me! tambokazngirl.tumblr.com  

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Trigger warning: self harm, eating disorders, verbal abuse, anxiety. Hello, I am Rachael and I am the product of my home. I am the second youngest out of six. I am not the pretty one, not the popular one, not the intelligent one, not the one who got out, not the baby and not the first born. And my mother loves to point this out. I am female bodied but don&#8217;t identify as strictly female. I wear dresses, I don&#8217;t shave my legs, I dislike make-up and I spend more time thinking about books than sex. My mother always has to point out my weight, my breasts, my scarred legs, my messy hair(a product of my father) my below average features and so much more. My weight gain started in third grade when my breathing problems got worse. It ended with my adenoids being removed and me still having breathing problems. I didn&#8217;t play much with kids my age and spent more time reading. This is when my anxiety started. When I entered seventh grade, depression hit. When I entered eighth grade, my bulimia and restriction started. I still sometimes can&#8217;t sit down and eat like a normal person. I will have intense anxiety attacks about little things, like walking to the bathroom in school or asking someone to borrow a pencil. I pick at my skin, make scabs, scratch, and bruise myself when having anxiety attacks. My scars are mainly on my legs, with the rare exception of my collar bone. I am really self conscious of pretty much every part of myself. My face, my eyes, my teeth, my breasts, my stomach, my legs, my arms&#8230; I do so much to try and hide this stuff. I hardly ever wear tank tops. I wear pants almost every day, if not then I wear tights. I hide behind my hair and my glasses. I make weird faces so people don&#8217;t have to see my actual face. But dammit, why should I have to? I actually do like my wide hips though&#8230; This blurb of text jumps around like my actual thoughts. I am working on starting my own revolution with the help of some of the most beautiful people I know. And boy do I love them for it.BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Trigger warning: self harm, eating disorders, verbal abuse, anxiety.
Hello, I am Rachael and I am the product of my home.
I am the second youngest out of six.
I am not the pretty one, not the popular one, not the intelligent one, not the one who got out, not the baby and not the first born.
And my mother loves to point this out.
I am female bodied but don’t identify as strictly female.
I wear dresses, I don’t shave my legs, I dislike make-up and I spend more time thinking about books than sex.
My mother always has to point out my weight, my breasts, my scarred legs, my messy hair(a product of my father) my below average features and so much more.
My weight gain started in third grade when my breathing problems got worse.
It ended with my adenoids being removed and me still having breathing problems.
I didn’t play much with kids my age and spent more time reading.
This is when my anxiety started.
When I entered seventh grade, depression hit.
When I entered eighth grade, my bulimia and restriction started.
I still sometimes can’t sit down and eat like a normal person.
I will have intense anxiety attacks about little things, like walking to the bathroom in school or asking someone to borrow a pencil.
I pick at my skin, make scabs, scratch, and bruise myself when having anxiety attacks.
My scars are mainly on my legs, with the rare exception of my collar bone.
I am really self conscious of pretty much every part of myself.
My face, my eyes, my teeth, my breasts, my stomach, my legs, my arms…
I do so much to try and hide this stuff.
I hardly ever wear tank tops.
I wear pants almost every day, if not then I wear tights.
I hide behind my hair and my glasses.
I make weird faces so people don’t have to see my actual face.
But dammit, why should I have to?
I actually do like my wide hips though…
This blurb of text jumps around like my actual thoughts.
I am working on starting my own revolution with the help of some of the most beautiful people I know.
And boy do I love them for it.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!