These are my confessions

It's time to admit some things about myself. I don't always feel like this, but I usually do. Fuck, I don't even know how to start this. There's just so much built up inside me right now.

I hate nearly everything about my body. (Yes, I'm a typical girl with typical body issues, plus some. So if you don't care or don't want to hear it, stop reading.) Why, you ask? Well.

I'm 6'0 tall, which has always been awkward and not cool in my book.
I never use scales because they make me cry.
I realize that as a tall person, my ideal body weight is greater than people who are normal heights, but I can't help it.
Born to dance? Fuck that. If I were born to dance, I would be less than 5'6 and around 100 pounds.
Shopping is usually fun...when I'm looking at accessories. When it comes to trying on clothes, I almost always end up discouraged and angry because nothing ever fits me.
Jeans are nearly impossible for me to find; I have to get at least extra-longs in one of the largest sizes because my hips are so big, and I spend hours trying them on and find maybe two pairs.
I don't realize it UNTIL I try on jeans that my hips are huge.
(I actually really like having curvy hips...only thanks to Ryan.)
I was told once that my eyes have a unique shape, but that only makes me think they're weird.
I think I have a really big forehead.
I only like my hair when it's straight, but it takes so much time and effort that I hardly ever do it.
My feet (as I wrote about it my recent post) have calluses from dancing for 14 years, and I'm convinced they'll never be smooth.
My hands are too small for someone my size.
I have small shoulders, tiny ears, and an extremely short upper lip.

Last but not least, what I hate most about myself: my insulin spots.
There are hard deposits about a centimeter below my skin that came from doing too many injections there in the last twelve and a half years.
They're horrible. To me, they look like two little tumors on either side of me, in line with my belly button, just inside my hip bones. They have little bruises around them from other shots. I hate them with every fiber of my being and sometimes I just want to take a knife and cut them out.
They're the only things I really try to hide from everyone. Sometimes I wear leggings under my jeans and tell you it's just to be warmer...but I wouldn't tell you it's also because they can hold in my insulin spots. I wear a sweater or a jacket every day, just so I can cover them up.

A recent excerpt from my journal (I know, a journal with stuff that's not already on my blog? Crazy, right?):
"It's nights like these that make me want to run back to him. The one who would rub aloe as gently as he could on my severely burnt back, the one who once told me I was perfect, the one who would kiss the insulin deposits under my skin that I hate so much. He would hold me while I cried, my forehead on his shoulder and my face stuck frozen in a sob that felt like it would never end. 0.09% NaCl solution coursing down my cheeks, chest caving in like my heart was a black hole, not feeling the need to breathe."

Even when I've tightened my belt by a notch, when I know that my stomach's full of air because I ate wheat today and not with food because I ate too much, when I've felt so good about myself earlier in the week...I can't escape the tears that are so ready to spill.