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I was an athlete and I fucking hated it.

Something that’s not widely spoken on is how dysmorphic you can feel in your own body when you’ve been doing sports from a young age. I felt like I looked masculine. I felt I had too much muscle tone. I didn’t feel like a woman at all, much less myself. For better context, I was a competitive swimmer for four almost five years straight. Starting in fourth grade, ending around the beginning of highschool. My body had no softness or curves. I was stick thin in some areas and bulking in others (think inverted dorito with a flat tummy and like a-cups because I couldn’t manage to keep on enough fat for tits att). I was always hungry. And I’ve never been physically competitive in my life. Practices that I once enjoyed (because they were for children and had fun games like sharks and minnows) and eventually tired of went from one hour almost immediately after school, to an hour and a half and two hours on weekends, and then to two hours everyday for the entire week. Recall: I didn’t choose this sport. My step sister did. I wanted to try other things, was told “no this will help you get into college you’re good at this.” I was not good at that, I was OK at it. The other part of that: I would likely have to swim in college if it did help me, and I wanted to GTFO not swim for a college team. I fought with my mom a lot as a result. I was already in a bad spot mentally. There were many practices where I just got so upset I would swim and cry because I didn’t fucking want to be there, and I would backtalk my coaches if they pissed me off, and then my mom would get mad at me for making the coaches mad and making her look bad. Fun fact about swimming in Florida! THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS AN OFF SEASON!

That’s right. I was swimming in pools and attending practice year round, no fucking breaks to be a kid. Everyday. Middle of the afternoon. Yippee. I had no friends at practice, some kids would claw at anything they could grab and yank you backwards. FUN! Everyone was always so about it and very competitive. (Recall: I am not a physically competitive person unless we’re talking hide and seek or cops and robbers back when I was like 7 and I couldn’t go home till the streetlight came on). Everyone judged me for my lack of enthusiasm. I didn’t really care because I genuinely didn’t want to be there. My mother made me attend every meet. I almost got hypothermia at one meet, my coach had to force my mother to take me home because my muscles locked up and I had to start forcing myself to shiver. (For context; yes this was in Florida, it was a December morning that was devoid of sun, strong winds, grey sky no sunlight all day, slightly rainy, 40° F ambient temperature, outdoor pool with a shitty pool heater, and opposing teams had used all the hot water left in the showers. All my gear was soaked through and wouldn’t dry— remember no sun, it was cold and rainy— so I just stayed wet in-between events. Events that were very delayed and had hours of gap time between them. This is not even including windchill. I had been there since seven in the morning. My mom just told me to do laps before my events to warm up- my body was no longer producing heat I’m pretty sure, because I would jump on my toes, and I was so terribly cold in my damp parka that the cement felt like it was bending under my feet. I didn’t leave until just after twelve I think). There were meets like once or twice a month and unless I made plans and begged (recall: no friends on the team, very few irl) I was going regardless of whether I wanted to attend or not.

I had five panic attacks while at that pool :) each on separate occasions due to stress from homework and all the other shit I had waiting for me at home.

I was once sexual harassed by a group of girls who thought it was funny and chased for a short while by them while walking to my practice once. Didn’t tell my mom or the school, they wouldn’t have believed me or done anything anyways so I didn’t see a point.

Towards the end of my swimming career I was skipping practices whenever I could get away with it. I really hated it by then. My mom actually once told me people were judging me for my excoriation disorder from my step sisters team, and that I should just stop picking my skin, because it was making my step sister look bad because our parents were dating and I have ocd from trauma. :)

Anyways. Yeah. I wore glasses, had braces and exertion induced asthma, so I literally do not like most sports. I usually ended up with a ball hitting me in the face because some jock kicked it without looking while I walked the track. I now work around a pool and that was the best thing to ever come from my swimming career, and I mean that with complete sincerity.

Feel free to talk about your experiences in tags/replies/ect, and reblog if you'd like. I've been quite curious about this lately

It came in bouts.

Terrible things happened when I was around five. My father had been abusing my mother in front of me. Verbally, physically, emotionally, financially, you name it he did it. That’s right around the time your memories start by the way. That was probably the first time I actually wanted to die. I didn’t understand it, but I’d play dead in my bedroom, hoping that if I laid there hard enough it would just… happen. Thought that I wouldn’t be missed. Who was gonna pay attention to a corpse when there was a screaming match outside your door, right? My parents divorced soon after, but my father still wasn’t done with causing damage, so he sabotaged my mother’s credit score. It’s hard to be happy kid when your mother is crawling into your bed at night as a child, not in fear of her own life, but later learning she was in fear for yours. And then when you finally see her no longer in fear for your lives you then see her bone tired and pushing herself to the limit to make rent and feed two growing kids, and get a college degree your father kept her from getting, all while working three jobs? Shit was rough. Ate a lot of tv dinners to get by for a while. Sometimes the toilet paper was more appetizing and cheaper at the time, so I would sometimes eat that like a little creature because it made the hunger stop for a little while.

When I was six I was sexually abused by a family member she trusted to watch us while at work.

I was abused again around that same age by my father’s girlfriend’s son, who was a large bit older than me, though it wasn’t as direct.

My dad would physically and verbally abuse me when I was over at his house for the weekends. He’d let his girlfriends do it too if, because they would try to be my “new mommy” and it wouldn’t work because their vibes were horrendous and they always assumed it was because they were taking away my dad’s attention from me, when he didn’t even give it to me in the first place if it wasn’t in his interests or to save face. Sometimes there were no snacks because he would always date almond moms who couldn’t stand us ‘free-grazing’. So sometimes I just went hungry, even when I was in a sport.

Things didn’t start getting better till I was around eight or nine. And not by much. I got diagnosed with ADHD, but my mental health issues got so much worse around puberty. I didn’t know how to make friends because I was so reclused into myself by that point. I kind of just did my own thing. Nobody really seemed to want to keep me around anyways, and I really tried.

Things were okay for awhile when I was ten and eleven.

When I was twelve my mental shit came to a head. I found a group of friends, but I had to annoy them in order to stick around. I was determined then. They ended up ditching me when I was way older anyways so that blew. I got braces. Started therapy. There were a lot of tears and old wounds reopened. At one point I was homeless and couch surfing because my dad refused to forfeit visitation rights even though he was evicted from his condo. That was a trip. Sometimes I would have to have a sleep over with a friend just to get a shower because he wouldn’t pay utilities. Sometimes when he was single there was nothing in the house to eat, and we would be stuck with nothing until he came home from work. Sometimes he would kick us out and lock us out of the house in the middle of the day during the Florida summers to make us “get off our lazy asses.”

Things didn’t start looking up really for my emotional state till I was about 14.

Then I turned 16 and one of my family members died. Was in a car accident while driving my first vehicle (wasn’t at fault. But damn. It was scary). After that things were better, but to be honest? They’re still kinda shit.

I’m 21 now.

So your answer?

Worst years of my life:

5yrs old - 9 yrs old

12 yrs old - 14 yrs old

16yrs old - 18yrs old

…and now I’m doing better. Not completely OK. Not even good really. but better than I can really remember being in a long ass while.

Nowadays I’m just stressed with school and work all the time. Not really super happy or fulfilled yet either, but I’m assuming that’s pretty normal for my generation.

How old were you at the lowest point in your life? Reblog this and put it in the tags, plus your current age maybe. I'm trying to see something.

I did. But I also technically didn’t.

I may or may not have slept through a minor (very feelable though mind you, because my brother woke up and the walls were rattling about) Earthquake. It woke everyone else we were staying with up (we were out of our home state). My dumb ass slept through it like a baby. I wasn’t even on a proper mattress. I was on an air mattress, on the floor. I should’ve felt it.

Felt nothing of the sort.

I’ve also slept through some of the most major hurricanes in the past two decades though, so I mean do with that what you will. I also went out to take photos of wildflowers when a tornado danced just outside of my family’s house, and watched it from my bedroom window while I was still in an open field a short walk from our house recording and identifying a plant species for fun and I didn’t even hear it. :/ I’m just built different I guess.

One of these days my obliviousness will kill me I think.

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Yknow you really don’t know how much your mental health impacts your physical health until you start seeing it fall apart under serious mental strain.

Just noticed the gums on a few of my teeth receding- like I’m pretty sure the bone is exposed (I’ve always had like, really little gum and giant ass teeth, part of why I do my best to take care of them), which doesn’t make sense because I kinda obsess over brushing and cleaning in-between them whenever I can remember to take time for myself (pretty much every morning and most nights because thank you ADHD and depression you really don’t need to get worse after a long day, but for some reason you do, but I do my best to maintain healthy habits so I don’t experience long term consequences from y’all’s shit, so suck my dick)

I don’t have cavities- haven’t in years, and my gums normally don’t bleed much if at all, but I guess I didn’t pay attention to my spit until this morning cause it was bloody as hell. So I took a look. And one of my lower teeth is just. The gum used to be there not long ago. It’s not there now!

So I panicked. Obviously. I spent too much money fixing my shit teeth genetics so that I could smile without breaking mirrors and I DID NOT go through hell with mouth devices in middle school to have my bottom teeth fall out under mysterious circumstances.

So I did a quick little read up on it online. Apparently stress is REALLY BAD for your gums. And teeth. And the bone surrounding your teeth. It can make you prone to infections and periodontitis, if not make you more vulnerable to developing it.

And for several months I have been under, like, some of the most SEVERE stress of my life ever because thank you shitty chemistry teacher and thank you gifted student complex that makes me judge my self worth through my grade point average, you’re both bastards and I hate you both for this.

My diet hasn’t changed too much, I’m too broke to be eating absurd amounts of junk food when my mom still insists on cooking for me. And my home-cooked meals still include vegetables and starches and meats, so pretty wholesome meals all in all. My oral hygiene, while sometimes spotty because mental health, hasn’t been consistently neglectful because I recently decided I wanted my teeth to not be stained Brit yellow as a tea drinker, so I bought an expensive whitening tooth paste (with fluoride of course), and in order for it to work and continue working I need to brush consistently obviously, so that’s been motivating me to brush and I’ve seen it help. My gums are a healthy pale pink, not bloody red or swollen.

I even have one of those pick and mirror kits you can buy at the store that I use to check my teeth out and for missed or suspicious spots. Listen, ok, I had one of those telescoping rods installed in my mouth in middle school, a power chain, wedges, and rubber bands. My mouth was torn to fucking hell to fix my teeth and not have them fall out because they were fighting for space (because they were massive and I also had to have them shaved down just to fit in my mouth. By like a lot. A lot a lot). And I’m not doing that shit ever again. Like NEVER EVER. I had a permanent retainer installed on my lower teeth (haven’t broken it yet) and I wear my upper retainer at least once a week (again forgetfulness is worse when I’m exhausted and I wear it at night. Still trying to build that healthy habit, and it still fits even if a little snug sometimes. It’s still Better than never wearing it.)

But they’re receding on a few of my teeth and that’s a recent development because during my last dentist appointment my dentist said I was looking great, just to keep an eye on a potential problem area we’ve been watching over the years, but I’ve had no issues with it so far. That problem area WAS NOT my gums, or my gums attempting to evacuate existence. And I have had a little sensitivity to temperature but I assumed “well whitening toothpaste duh”. Now I’m starting to suspect it’s because my stress levels are causing my body to not function correctly and that’s affecting me physically. I’ve had more evidence for this theory but I’ve been dismissing it aside from this, including heart palpitations, trouble sleeping, a grey hair (I’m deadly serious unfortunately), stomach issues, menstrual irregularity even on BC, consistently elevated heart rate, and other issues. Mostly because honestly I don’t know of ways to manage this kind of stress in the context of adult life when nobody has time for themselves anymore between working and school.

This is the stuff people don’t talk about when it comes to stress. It’s always this intangible concept when talked about; but it’s not. It’s a physical manifestation and process in your body. You experience it, and it’s real even when you can’t feel or see it. And its impacts are really terrible for people’s health. But we don’t talk about those far reaching physical effects. We only talk about the emotional aspect of it, but it has an extremely physical impact on the body, and it can fucking kill you if not cause long-term harm.

I wish I knew how the fuck to make time for myself and fix this but I cannot manifest extra time for myself out of thin air, so I’ll just have to wait till things chill again and remember to do life at my own pace again.

Currently want to puke from stress.🤟🏻

My mental health is very steadily deteriorating, I need a vacation and like a week of self care immediately. I am having to actively focus on not dissociating or thinking too hard about my school or I risk a panic attack. Or my heart giving, out I don’t know.

The problem is thorough self care takes energy and spare time I don’t have.

Why is it designed like this. Who decided this was a good way to do this. I want to leave. Europe take me to where there’s work life balance and I’m not in danger of being mowed down by bullets or hate crimed in the streets for my sexuality.

Leaving things where I will always, like clockwork, know I will look for them first.

When I lose things and CANT find them, it’s because either I or someone else broke the routine.

If I can see it immediately I need to feel that it is there. Can’t feel it or see it? Need to hear it. My vision is already and always has been shit.

Keys? If they’re not in my pants pockets, they’re in my hands. If they’re not in my hands, I have them in my teeth. Not In my teeth? Check my bag pocket. Not in bag pocket? They then are only ever going to be in my car cupholder.

I can’t forget my work shoes if they are already on my feet or literally beneath or on my work bag. Even if this annoys the piss out of other people, it. works.

If something is within arms reach, the compulsion of: I might as well! Kicks in and I can actually manage at least taking care of my basic needs

The problem with this method is if I get stuck in a depressive spiral and don’t look at a specific spot by the mirror in the bathroom that I look at 90% of the time like three self care tasks are being forgotten that day.

If the cleaning supplies are sitting on the bathroom counter, eventually I will remember to do the task. Usually when looking at the thing annoys me enough.

I found my first grey hair bro.

My eye has been twitching nonstop for weeks at this point, it comes down over spring break, but it came back the minute I thought about this fuck ass class.

I’m only twenty one.

It’s too late for me. Save yourselves.

(I’m not passing that class this teacher is ASS LMFAO)

Bro this sinus infection is kicking my ass.

So is Chem II but we’re not going to talk about my shit professor driving me up the wall when I sound like a prepubescent boy with the amount of croaking and voice cracks I’m having.

Gods pray for me. I don’t know how imma get through this semester but I will somehow make it work in my favor in the end. Somehow.

Bro this sinus infection is kicking my ass.

So is Chem II but we’re not going to talk about my shit professor driving me up the wall when I sound like a prepubescent boy with the amount of croaking and voice cracks I’m having.

Gods pray for me. I don’t know how imma get through this semester but I will somehow make it work in my favor in the end. Somehow.

You know, I remember as a child, everyone made a big deal over security blankets and things during like, puberty and stuff. I still don’t know why. I never grew out of taking my blanket with me around the house, (never will) and when I go over to peoples houses. I have my favorite ones. They’re soft. It’s comforting to be Surrounded by soft. I’m not going to use your cold ass duvet that has the texture of a swimsuit. I’m going to cocoon myself in my silky soft polyester blankie that traps heat really well and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do to stop me.

I will wrap myself up in it and walk around like I am royalty, and this is my cloak. I will have my cereal while sitting wrapped like a mummy. I will roam wherever I please with my blanket used as hood as though I am but a lonely, nameless traveler.

Suck my dick. Cry about it, if you need to. It’s literally a non issue. Just let people have their comfort items, and whoever wrote that in my puberty book or whatever saying you should slowly get rid of those comfort items in some twisted right of passage fashion is an asshole.

In hindsight, that book gave shitty advice. Good thing I disregarded most of it aside from the hygiene portion.

I hate that I’m injured but not injured enough to prevent me from attending lecture.

Just enough to majorly inconvenience me. Could I skip lecture, blame it on the shoulder I dislocated while at my job? Take the day and rest, considering it’s only a single class and it’s probably rehashing the stuff I know already? Sure.

Should I?

FUCK NO

Am I going to? No, unfortunately I’m going to burn through my gas to drive my injured ass to school because even though I’m a smart girl who would survive missing class I’m also goody-two-shoes looser who’d die of the guilt if I didn’t, for a measly fifty minute lecture like a goddamn peasant instead of drawing or writing, or study for my other, much more challenging class.

Like if there is a god, don’t do this again, break my femur or something. Don’t half ass my injuries. Because you realize all you did was majorly inconvenience me? You didn’t give me a good enough reason to stop and rest and we both know it, so try harder next time.

Sorry. You need to put your back into because we both know I don’t fucking stay down, and I’m the human equivalent of a cockroach because I could be dying and I’d still feel guilty about skipping out on my responsibilities to be “lazy” (I know it’s not actually) and rest and do the things I want.