In ninth grade I became aware of my body.
By: Bella B
Tags: Mental Illness, Mental Health Awareness, Mental Health

In ninth grade I became aware of my body. In ninth grade I became trapped, not only in my house, but in my head. In ninth grade I told myself weight=worth. I didn’t take into account that weight is different in ever body, that muscle, height, and age all contribute to weight. No. I saw it as something that needed to be changed, added to that ever growing list of repairs. 1. Fix the leaky pipe 2. Paint scratch on wall 3. Sew hole in shirt 4. Loose weight. A list of needs, when in fact, it isn’t a need, merely a want.

Little reminders throughout the day ring in my head. “Don’t eat too much.” “You aren’t really hungry.” “Stop eating.” They burn into my brain, implant themselves into my everyday life. Its become exhausting to listen to them.

“We are all in this together” but if that’s so true how can we feel so separated from ourselves and the things we used to pride ourselves in? I never used to look at myself and think, ‘I need to change’ but now that’s all I’m thinking about. My mind is exhausted from all the isolation. I look back on my life that I once had and am jealous. I’m jealous of all the friends, interactions, moments, and happiness I once had. So jealous, that tears and mirrors are the only things I see.

The problem with it all is that I’m fully aware of this parasite that has consumed my thoughts, but the sadness is almost comforting now. Sadness, anger, and fear have been hovering over my head like a cloud for the past 9 months and I don’t seem to make them want to go away. It’s almost as if wallowing I’m my own thoughts and emotions is going to make up for all the things I’m craving- happiness, adventure, and fun. Happiness, the word is almost laughable. How can I be happy in a world of 7 billion where I don’t even want myself?

On top of everything already pounding through my head, my parents haven’t made quarantine easy for me. I’ve been told, ‘one treat a day’, ‘I know you aren’t hungry. Why are you eating?’ and ‘Your father and I have hid food that we don’t want you eating.’ All of this piling up, but I’m fine. As a gen z I’ve been told by my elders, ‘Don’t talk back.’ ‘You’re fine. You’re just being overdramatize.’ So many times that I have a fear of telling them that what they say hurts and that I’m struggling and need help. I’ve be raised to not ask for help because it always turns into a lecture and that my feelings and opinions aren’t valued. I’ve been raised to learn that my feelings aren’t valid and I’m just doing everything for attention when really I am crying for help.

This isn’t the end of this trail, only a lake along the path, to look onto my reflection and ponder. I know I’m not the only one feeling like this which is slightly comforting but also reminds me of how alone we all are too.

In ninth grade I wrote about my emotions. In ninth grade I realized the power of words on other people. In ninth grade I hated everything social media did to me, but was addicted. Sadness is like a drug, once you have too much, you want more until it consumes you.

Now this isn’t my best work, but words were bouncing around my head and this is what I could muster up. If you made it to the end that you for reading, it means a lot and I hope that you liked it come back for more. Thank you.