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Under a microscope

I look at myself in the mirror and start noticing imperfections.

Ugh! A fat roll

Why are my arms so flabby?

I have so much cellulite.

What are all these stretch marks?

As I continue to find things to hate,

I wonder how my future daughter or son would feel about me criticizing them like this.

How my best friend would feel if I criticized how she looked.

How my boyfriend would feel if I called him big.

How my mother would feel if I pointed out stuff on her body.

The answer is they wouldn't feel anything, because I wouldn't dare even noticing it.

Because it doesn't make them them.

I love them for who they are, not how they look.

So why can't I love myself for who I am?

Ugh, an inexplicable need to help others

Why am I always willing to hear someone out when they're struggling?

I have so many friends, even if we don't talk every day.

What are these writings that come out of my head every once in a while?

How am I so dedicated to being a good employee, even if I don't particularly like my job?

I have so many people supporting me.


I just have to change the questions.

If I do that long enough, maybe I'll start believing in myself again.

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