Yes, I’m Inconsistent. Aren’t You?

I’ve spent a lot of my life pretending to be even-keeled. Pretending that I’m stronger than I am, pretending that I can handle more than I can, and pretending that I don’t feel the emotions that I do. I’m done doing that. I’m an inconsistent person, and that’s just fine with me.

Growing up, I was always loud and would get a “tone” that my parents would obsess about. My “tone” affected everything, and I couldn’t understand why. If my brothers were being rude, I’d yell at them and get in trouble for that tone, rather than them getting in trouble for the content. So I realized early on, that if I kept my emotion out of my voice, my words would be heard, but if I put the emotion in it, I wouldn’t be taken seriously.

That’s when the pretending started. I pretended to be fine. I pretended to be confident. I even pretended that I thought I was pretty. And none of it was true. Not even a little.

I wasn’t fine, I wasn’t confident, and I sure as hell didn’t think I was pretty in the least. But being even-keeled was more important, so I hid my emotions, walled up my heart, and went to work being someone without substance, someone that wasn’t real. I spent about six or seven years being like that, and I’m just now realizing that I need to change.

I can’t pretend to be fine for everyone anymore, because I’m not. I can’t pretend to be confident in myself, because I’m not. And I can’t pretend that I think I’m attractive, because I don’t. It’s time to be real, and it’s not as pretty, and that “tone” might come out, but it’s me, and I refuse to be ashamed of that.

I’ve spent a long time in shame. I was ashamed that I was raped. I was ashamed that I had an eating disorder. I was ashamed that I was fat. I was ashamed that I wasn’t the person I was pretending to be, and I was ashamed that I had a psychological disorder that I couldn’t seem to overcome.

I’m not ashamed anymore. An eating disorder is something to work through, not something to be ashamed of. It was a coping mechanism that I needed. NEEDED. I would have been a lot worse off if I hadn’t become bulimic, it was what I had to do to make it through an incredibly traumatic experience, and it’s not at all surprising that I ended up with one.

So, I’m done pretending. I need help, and I’m getting it. I’m not okay yet, but I will be. I’m doing everything right, but I’m going to have bad days. I’m going to have days when I really want to purge. I’m going to have days when I do. I’m also going to have days where I can conquer the world, and those where I can barely get through the day.

I’m inconsistent. Always have been, and I’m done hiding it. We don’t have to be even-keeled, we have to be exactly who we are, and going through all of this is helping me realize that I’m a damn good person, who’s all over the place.

I’m done pretending. I like that I’m empathetic. I like that I’m completely affected by other people. Does it have downfalls? Of course it does. But it’s who I am. I’m emotional and crazy and inconsistent, and I’m going to rock it for the rest of my life.