Two Things: I Hate Friends & Grotesque

Today's post is going to be a little heated. It's actually something that's been truly bothering me and it really makes me feel as if there is no hope for humanity.


If you don't know me (stalker!), I'm about 5'4-5'5, depending on the day. Yeah, not so tall. Not so average. But I refuse to say whatever word you are currently thinking, because that would be falling into what I want to describe a little later.

Anyways, in my last period class today, which happens to be concert choir, one of my "friends" decided to shout out something that I found very offensive. Now, mind you, I get made fun of all the time. I don't know why. I follow the "golden rule" and I never go out of my way to hurt anyone. But today, it was the straw that broke the back. Mainly because it was from a "friend" who I've told about my issues with my body image.

But to those who bully and like to find the flaws in people, I'd like to explain a psychological process that goes into the mind of the victim, just in case you care (but you probably don't). You see, each individual has their own personified look at themselves, whether they think they are suave, whether they are skinny, etc. Of course, they know they do not look like this. This is called residual self image, where a person thinks they are projecting a certain image unto others, hence leading to questions such as "what am I wearing today?" or "do I look fat?". These victims, who usually never see it coming, always think they are projecting a certain image from looking into the mirror and when they are contested, they tend to feel doubt within their own perception of themselves. The bully didn't just "poke fun", but just recklessly destroyed this residual self image of the person.

Now residual self image is something that should be taken very seriously, considering those who have a somewhat shattered residual self image will have massive emotional damage.

Apparently, whenever I tell someone that, they laugh.

Thanks to bullies consistenly beating down my residual self-image, I am now diagnosed with OCD. While it is now mild (it used to be very extreme), I still seem to obtain the effects with BDM or Body dysmorphic disorder. It is taken very seriously in the psychological world, since it leads to anorexia, bulimia, self-mutilation, etc. And so now, thanks to years of constant torment, I am now diagnosed with BDM.

And I've told friends, so that people would know not to make fun of me. But of course, humanity does not work like this. Humanity is filled with filth and instigation and wishes to torment others for the sake of torment. Sure, I know that some bully since they are self-loathing as well, but that gives no right to someone to take it out on others. Instead, they should reach out to those who feel tormented as well.

But no. You see, those who wish to make others feel ashamed aren't enlightened with a great residual self-image either. With that, they can point out the flaws of others easily and use it for their own gain. They use Machiavellian techniques to conquer the social ladder in a radical destruction of human emotion. It's disgusting.

So, this is dedicated to those who just love pointing out the flaws of others and who judge incessantly, for while I am not incredibly religious, I believe the following:

Only the creator of any creation may judge that creation. If the creation ever tries to assemble him or herself as the creator, then the original creator will walk away, insulted that a stupid, incessant creation has the right to torment his own creator, who supplies him with life and happiness.

Case in point, I wrote a poem about my body dysmorphic disorder for Humanities. I'm technically not suppose to show it, but I really despise that class, so here it is:

Grotesque:
I am grotesque
Rejection whispers that to me every so often
A man in a freak show behind steel bars
Noticing the people tear him apart
I am not human.

I am a mass of flesh
Disgusting,
Stomach expanding,
You fucking glutton
She is not blind to your sin,

The vinegar-spoiled scent of vomit,
Rushing, destroying my throat,
A cleansing,
Better than I've ever been.
Stop.
Stop me,
The disease is coming out,
But it is still coating my obese organs.
The smell rots the bathroom
And you're still going nowhere.

I am dying,
Killing me softly not with a song,
But a mirror
All the flab and blandness and mediocrity
fills up the refracted screen.
Love handles, distended stomach, the lard on your face,
What the hell is wrong with you?
You're a failure,
Get back to work!

My rib's are sticking out
Crevices, finally the day I see crevices
But you're still disgusting
A malnourished face
Just so the girl of your dreams can wake up
And stop dreaming.
Skinny ankles with a cadaver attached
As I collapse, the men white seek refuge
Am I attractive yet?
Am I a rock star?
Do I have to miss dinner again?
Am I going to be the celebrity,
that you fantasize about yet?
Will the Judas mirror stop betraying me, just for once?
No?
Well,
Til the day that you accept me honestly,
Til the day I am no longer the fat man and the little boy,
That haunt me,
Til the day I am Adonis, til I am perfection sent from God,
I am Grotesque.