Why Are We Never Satisfied?

Humans are insatiable. Think about it. Have you ever been happy with every single little thing in your life?

I am constantly dissatisfied with something and I feel like when I change the thing I am unhappy with, something new pops up. 

It’s usually about my appearance. I’m sure it stems from having an eating disorder in the past and a career where I was judged on how I look. 

When I was 16, I hated my thighs. When I was 17, I hated how small my breast were. When I was 18, I refused to wear sleeveless shirts because my arm didn’t go in a straight line. Now, I hate my nose. 

Recently, I have been noticing that when I smile, the bottom of my nose curls over my lip and looks weird. I even told my sister that I would like to get my nose done when I’m 21. Not fully reconstructed but just so it is a little bit more upturned. 

  

I decided I’m not going to get surgery for my nose because after that I’m just going to find something else that I dislike about myself. Not to be another woman protesting “the dangerous images that Barbie dolls set fourth with their unrealistic proportions” kind of thing but it is crazy to think about. As a child, I was always given Barbie dolls to play with and I always thought they were so beautiful. 

I wanted to be them. 

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this, but try to stay with me.

See, my blog is my open diary. Someone recently asked me a question about what the basis of my blog is and it is just that. Sure, I give advice and whatnot but I’m also asking all of my readers for their thoughts and opinions as well. 

Also, another question I was asked went something along the lines of : what are viewers supposed to gain from your writing?

To be honest, I’m not sure. I hope that sharing my stories of being addicted to cocaine or being bulimic can help some people get past their addictions or give them strength. It’s also kind of a community. Writing about my thoughts and life on the World Wide Web is difficult. When I get feedback from you guys, I don’t feel as alone. 

Everything I write comes from my journals, memory, and heart. It’s just me sitting on my patio, chainsmoking with my computer and old journals in front of me. It’s real and raw. Sometimes I write compulsively because my brain is going in so many different directions and I have to edit the things I’ve said. This is me opening up about my flaws and worries and whatnot. I get just as much (anonymous) negative feedback as I get positive feedback. You just can’t win with people. My question for those who criticize me is: when was the last time you were this honest with yourself?

Wow, this post is such a fuster cluck. Sorry for my disorganization. Again, this is just me writing from my heart.

Xx,

Megan


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