My thoughts on body shaming

I used get a lot of body shaming from my mom.

GOD. IT'S SO GOOD TO LET THAT OUT.

Okay, I'll focus now.

But really, I used to get a lot of body shaming from my mom. From my family. School mates. But mostly mom. And she'd never talk to me, trying to convince me losing weight would be good for my health. Nope, she'd just make fun of me, and it was SO BAD that I would literally hate myself.

Now I look at old photos of myself and be like... Hey, dude, is that me? I was smokin' hot!

I'm not kidding, I was smokin' hot.
I mean... I am fat now, but I was smokin' hot back then.

But all that made me think. There's a really good chance I will be looking at pictures of myself in 20 year from now and think I was a hot piece of sh*t!

So, this goes out to the future me: you are really hot. 

And to the old me: you were a dumass. You REALLY WERE. SMOKIN' HOT. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I realized this body-shaming thing is a real problem and it changes the way I used to see myself. 

I'm not blaming my mom for it. That skinny bitch!

Okay, I'm blaming my mom for it just a little bit. But you know why? Because she never really sat me down and told me about the importance of being fit and healthy. She would always pick on me, give me examples of other girls that used to have flat tummies while making me feel bad about the way I looked in a bathing suit.

Well you know what? Today I flashed my jelly in front of people. PEOPLE I DO NOT KNOW.

So there you have it. I'm chunky and I know it. And I ain't afraid to show it. 

The subtitle to that is the fact that I, for the first time, undressed and got dressed, panties and everything, at THE GYM LOCKER ROOM. I did that shit after 3 months of hiding and dressing in a little toilet room where I had to sit on the toilet just to get my socks on.

I'm not saying I'm delusional, that I look absolutely flawless and I should pose in mf Vogue. No. I'm saying that I'm aware I'm not in shape, but I work it out and I care about other stuff more. Like culture. And kindness. And having real hobbies that don't involve heavy drinking. Okay, scratch that one out *stupid drunk grin*

PS - Today I made salad and I screwed it up! One might ask how can that be possible.
Well, it just happened. And you know what? I'm happy I screwed up! Know why? Because now I know you should peel the potatoes before you slow-cook them, ya-ha!

Peace out everyone. You freaks on the internet with nothing better to do than read my nonsense. You guys are wonderful, I love you.

Okay, I'll stop.

Woohoo.

There's a part of me that doesn't want me to speak to anybody.
There's a part of me that doesn't want to speak to you in special.
There's a part of me that really really wants to hear your voice.
And there's a part of me that really craves for pizza.
I don't know why, it's just how my mind works.
All in all, today was a pretty fucked up day.
I guess any day you get to see that ex you hate and wish you could stab with a rusty knife enter your local store with his new girlfriend can qualify as a pretty fucked up day. You should just take a break from life and start over.
Kidding about the rusty knife part.
Actually, I'm not.
But at least I'm embracing my inner rage. I'm not in denial anymore. Woohoo.

So yeah, this is basically me not falling asleep and begging that a little bit of writing will do me good.
Cause if this doesn't work, I'm going to just text you that I miss you, OK? Please just text me back you miss me too and we'll just call it a day.

Hey, this writing thing does help! Woohoo.

Actually, the reason why I'm writing is because I'm out of wine. Writing seemed like the next best thing after getting slightly drunk and going to bed. Another thing I am not in denial anymore. I am an adult that drinks in average one bottle of wine per day. No, I am not an alcoholic. I just happen to like wine. And get dangerously dehydrated over the day. Give me a break. Thanks.

I've been replaying this entire day in my head and also realized I feel guilty for putting my trash bag in another trash can than the one assigned to my building. Bad Alexandra.
One of the neighbors called me bitch because of that. I just smiled and said "OK" like it was the most natural thing in the world. Guess another thing I feel now comfortable with is being called bitch and not giving a fuck. Woohoohoo.

So I guess this post doesn't make any sense. Well, not to you, my virtual amigo that got lost on the internet. I guess you are wondering how the hell you got here and what in the name of Bananahammock did you just read.

Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. Unless you're a bad person. Then you should definitely be hard to yourself.
Man, I'm not making any sense!
OK, I'll stop.