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rich emollient used in the management of eczema, psoriasis and other dry skin conditions.

15Feb

Ever heard the saying, “I love the person I am, because I fought to become her?”

 

True, I have fought so hard. But what happens when you don’t love who you are? And I don’t mean loving yourself in the physical sense. Just like most other women, I have certain insecurities and there’s things that I don’t love about my body. But thats not what I’m talking about…

What I’m talking about, is the fact that I literally hate how my body works. I hate me on the inside: I hate how I can’t eat, I hate how I can’t sleep, and I hate how I’m always tired.  There are so many things about my body that I hate and no matter what I do, these things don’t go away.

The real question for me is how am I supposed to let someone else love me or even love someone else when there so much about myself that I absolutely hate?  These things that I hate, are things I can’t fix and that no one else can fix for me.  At my most simple form, I’m complicated and at my most complicated form, I’m a complete mess.  In my life, nothing is simple, except the fact that everything is simply not okay.

Sound poetic? Sound tragic? Well my life is not poetic… It’s not tragic, it’s just mine.  My complicated, messy, not very lovable life.  And by not very lovable, I  mean if I can’t love it, why should I expect anyone else to love it? I am blessed with a number of amazing friends, who love me despite my illness.  And for those individuals, I am unbelievably thankful, because beyond all reason, they have chosen to love me despite the crap shoot that is my life.

But in a romantic sense, who could possibly love me? It’s a question that has continued to plague me as I grow older and watch those around me find love.

This question is only perpetuated by the iconic holiday, called Valentine’s Day, aimed at celebrating the love in one’s life. Maybe I’m alone in hating my body for the illness that plagues it, or maybe I’m not?  I don’t actually know since nobody talks about their hate for their body.  And if they do, it’s in a self-pitying other-condemning sort of way.  Society tells me because I have a good body and a pretty face, I am beautiful and therefore lovable. But society doesn’t see my illness.  It doesn’t see the part of me that make me ‘unlovable’, which is the part of myself that I have not been able to reconcile in my not so normal life.

  

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