Plussize life

DESOLATE

I'm laying in bed, relaxing into the comforts of the bed, idly scrolling through Instagram.

Image after image floods my screen, all of them of stunning girls with thin frames and bright smiles. My heart is filled with envy as I long to be "normal" like them, to suit society's definition of beautiful.

I wish I could wear trendy clothes without worrying about how they would stick to my curves and rolls. I wished I had the confidence that those females in the photos seemed to exude.

They seemed to have an impossible beauty, and with equally attractive partners by their side, stronger emotions of envy washed over me.

As I scroll more, grief sinks in like an anchor within me. How come I can't be like other girls?

Why do I have to bear this weight, both physically and emotionally? The self-pity dominates me, and for a brief minute, I consider ending it all in the hope that I would no longer have to feel this way.

But, as soon as the notion enters my head, I push it away, aware of the darkness it contains.
Still, the weight of my self-pity drags me farther into misery. I pity myself, convinced that I am unworthy of joy and affection.

Hours pass, and I am still confined in my room, lost in my own grief. The voices in my thoughts get more unpleasant, screaming cruel remarks and feeding my self-pity.

The cycle continues, with no end in sight. What have I not done to be normal, every effort futile? I finally get out of bed as the twilight sky colors the world in orange and pink colours.

I up and walk to the window, my heart heavy.

Tears build in my eyes as I glance out at the world beyond, filled with a profound grief that seems so distant and unachievable, matching the way I feel inside and seeping into my very being.

I am still plunged in the depths of my self-pity, drowning in a sea of misery, with no foreseeable path out and only the hope that one day, the clouds of sadness may break and allow a sliver of light to seep into the darkness.