Holding On To Me

This is part one of two, the second will be posted on Wednesday. This is another one of my prompts.      Warning: mentions of suicide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I break away from the tight grip he has on my. Each morning I wake up and immediately hate what I see.  I slip out of bed and walk straight to the bathroom. I just stare at the mess in front of me. They aren’t just insecurities anymore, they’re awful genetic mistakes I wish I could erase. I don’t care who you talk to, everyone has something. Everyone has at least one thing, one feature, they wish they never had to look at again. I just happen to have many. My eyes instantly lock on to my nose. The obnoxiously large, ugly mess sticking out from the middle of my face and taking over more space than any nose should ever be allowed.

That’s my thing. My one thing. If I only had one thing I could change, it would be my nose. Everything else I could get over. Everything else I could live with. But I digress, there are still plenty more things that bother me. My eyebrows are different, my lips are too small, I have inconsistent freckles that scatter my entire face instead of the cute little ones that sit just under the eyes and across the bridge of the nose. God I wish I had a nicer, SMALLER, nose! Then there’s my hair. I have so much god damn hair! The rest of my body I’m mostly okay with believe it or not. I’ve always been petite and fairly athletic as well. That doesn’t mean I don’t do anything to make sure I stay that way, but I don’t completely hate my body. I don’t eat junk food, I drink tea to keep everything cleansed. I usually have to remind myself to eat though. It’s more of a hassle for me than anything else. Some people are always hungry, others plan their day around meal and snack times. I have to go out of my way to make sure I remember to eat, so I have some kind of energy.

Which leads me to the next part of my dreaded morning routine. The scale. I like to think that my bathroom scale and I have a love/hate relationship. My boyfriend jokes that I’m more committed to it than I am with him. This morning isn’t too bad. 128. My dream would be to sit at 120 or even 119, but considering my goal this month was 127 I can’t really complain.

Now cue my boyfriend walking in and trying to ignore the fact that he knows exactly what I was doing. Sure enough, right on schedule. He walks in, and gives me a hug from behind before kissing my cheek and handing me my toothbrush. He used to follow me straight into the bathroom after waking up, but now he waits the ten minutes until I’m done my self-loathing before coming to cheer me up. I’m not sure if its his way of giving me space or if he’s given up on the impossible task of trying to change the way I look at myself. When I was diagnosed with depression two years ago after making a few unsuccessful attempts at ending my own pain, he’s changed. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he has changed. Like more space during my inevitable morning ritual and less during day-to-day things. A new strategy maybe? I mean, I know he loves me and is afraid that something might happen again. To be completely honest though, I’m surprised he’s still with me at all. I hate the idea of making someone else deal with my problems, especially given the things I struggle with. But he’s still here. Still giving me that crooked smirk with a toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth each morning. Still making me laugh every time. And I’m amazed he puts up with it all just to keep me around. Maybe that’s why he holds me so tight.

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