Saturday, 7 November 2015

Image Struggles

Heart Skips a Beat  Acrylic Canvas Painting by SCRCreations, $50.00:
I am writing this article after coming out of a breakdown. So if you've been having a bad day, don't read this. I'm just going to rant here.

First off, let me start by asking a question: What is happiness and why does everyone make such a big deal out of it?

Why do people find it so hard to accept that a person going through depression or is suffering from a mental illness can be happy? Is it really necessary for something life altering to happen to them before they become happy? Who feeds you that bullshit?

You know all those stories on the internet, about not fitting in anywhere? They're not all untrue. I've wanted to write this article for a long time. So here it comes:

When I was little, I use to think that my father had the answer to every problem. He was so smart, so strong, so funny, so good looking. I would show him off to all the other kids at school. Look, my daddy has abs, my daddy is charismatic. my daddy can play six different types of sports; can your father do that? I was so proud of him. Cross that. I AM proud of him. He is the best thing this world has to give to me. In those days, I would hang on to every word that fell from his lips. Whatever daddy said was true. Nothing could change my mind on that. But one of the things that he told me, that made me who I am was: "Be different. In our family, we don't value people who follow other people. People follow us."

So I took his advice literally and went out of my way to be different. Not that it wasn't fun. And kindergarten me took delight in shocking people. Like all those times I would show up to school with a buzz cut hairdo and everyone would just stare. The girls those days were bent on growing their hair as long as Rapunzel's. Or the time I brought a Spider Man backpack, lunch bag and compass box to school. I remember a boy asking me: "Why do you have Spider Man stuff? Are you a boy?". I remember punching him and getting into this big fight with our classmates cheering on (even if half of the boys were shaming my opponent for fighting a girl). I remember my father losing it in the Principal's office. I remember him laughing so hard that the secretary had to bring him a glass of water. He had to be stern with me afterwards for my mother's sake. But he got me Jungle Book a day later.

I remember always being a new student at school. I wasn't shy. I just did not want to talk to people. I was always content on my own. But it got lonely sometimes. VERY lonely. I remember being the only kid in the class who knew so much that the teacher had to give me other work to do to keep my mouth shut. And to stop correcting her mistakes. I remember always reading books of all shapes and sizes. I remember being caught in maths class reading a Nancy Drew book. All the kids shunned me after that. Apparently I had no 'respect' for the teacher because talking bad about her behind her back is so much more 'respectful'. 

Oh and then the Puberty fairy gave me a visit. And suddenly I became a very vivacious person (at least according to my first boyfriend). I got my first boyfriend in eight grade. He was two years older than me. Half of the class was in awe of my boldness. Half of them were too busy calling me a slut. I would go to the bathroom and find some very 'nice' things written in my honour. My boyfriend told me to ignore them, but I was tired of being judged relentlessly. I started distancing myself from him. That lead to me finding him making out with a Lebanese girl in the football ground. We hadn't broken up.

Then came the year where my mother got a tumour and we had to move to India. I hated every bit of it (the decision to move, not the country). I gained lot's of weight from binge eating and reading too many books. I stopped working out. And then the boob fairy came to give me a visit. You know the funny thing abut guys? They have this ridiculous fantasy about girls: big boobs, no waist, big booty and super long legs. What they don't get is that every girl who has naturally big breasts WILL have hips. And curvacious ones. Unless you count the ridiculously gorgeous fictional women created by sexually deprived male authors. In short: THEY DON'T EXIST UNLESS WOMEN SURGICALLY MODIFY THEMSELVES.

That was part of the reason I did not like like going to school. I was expected to be super thin and discuss diets and how I wanted to get married. I mean, what the hell? Food is the one of the few good things left on this planet and if there'es anything I learned from watching all those cooking shows is to NOT to sacrifice on food. And marriage? I was fourteen for crying out loud. I wanted to discuss what career I wanted , NOT how many kids I want.

I hate not fitting in. I never do. Wherever I go, no matter how much I try. So I've given up on it. I've started working out again. Not because I want a perfect body, but because I want to make it to the school badminton team (varsity level). I don't try to make a new best friend because I already have an AMAZING ONE BACK HOME. My cyclothymia has thought me so much. Mostly that the world is a screwed up place. I'm still not comfortable being myself, but I am getting there. And I hope you do to.

Yours,
Zoe Summers

2 comments:

  1. This is your best one yet. Wins hands down. And is that your artwork?
    Honey, I am so proud of you. And I am incredibly happy for you. Maybe India was not the best thing to happen to you, but I am so glad, so glad I got a friend like you. Oh my god, I think I just started crying.
    Loneliness is the price we pay for standing out. But we were born to be different. Born to be proud and strong. I love you so very much.

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    1. Thank you and no, it is not my artwork. India was a good thing.It taught me so much about myself and I'm glad too. I love you too.

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