They Lied

I have been going back and forward on where to start this and how to start it, it seems to be my biggest challenge when telling a story. Stories have to have a beginning, middle and end but my stories never do. It’s more like they latch on to part of me and Im actually never sure when it began or even if it ends. They follow me.

For years I have been living in a body that never felt like my own. Never understanding why I was always so tired actually scratch that exhausted all the time. I couldn’t do what anyone was doing, not the sports, not the make-up, not nothing that our world was telling me I had to or should do at my age. All I wanted to do was sit alone, eat and sleep.

My body would change constantly throughout the day which maybe me crazy self conscious. Wake up look at my self and yeah back to bed for me and plans cancelled. You could say I needed to start “loving myself” however, I did love myself. I loved myself a lot actually. I loved myself to a point of I was a guardian, protector and listener to myself. I got so in tune with my body that I knew something was wrong.

I knew it.

I went to countless doctors. Years arguing with my parents that something isn’t right. I was called obsessive, delusional, attention seeker and many more words like this.

Well you guess it. I believed them. I thought I was all those stuff, so I started my survival journey. I was not living for the day anymore I was surviving. I was in such a mess that I couldn’t recognise myself. I lost friends, family, jobs everything. I stopped caring about what made me human. My brain was so exhausted and full I couldn’t even form sentences. I was living in chronic pain.