"Society Killed The Teenager" ...um, what?

All over Tumblr there seems to be a craze of “blaming society” for our problems. The reason we have eating disorders is because SOCIETY makes us think skinny is beautiful. The reason we’re shy about our sexuality is because SOCIETY rejects anybody homosexual or bisexual. The reason we’re depressed is because SOCIETY is just FUCKED UP.

Okay, so all these people blaming society… where the fuck do you fit in then? We ARE society; the next generation of society at least! To me blaming this elusive “society” feels like shirking the blame, if I’m honest. You know, we all have a tendency to re-blog the pretty people, or use the term “gay” when we’re annoyed, or use the term “emo”. 

We are all to blame, really, and so making stupid photos with this slogan “society killed the teenager” is a load of bullshit. “Society makes us think drugs are cool”.. um what? WE make EACH OTHER think drugs are cool, and each time we pick up a spliff or a bong it’s not SOCIETY forcing us to, it is 100% our decision. In fact, society is doing its best to educate us now, more than ever, about the concept of acceptance - both of ourselves, and each other.

Now, although this means we are all partly to blame, it also means we have a lot more power. I think it’s time to stop blaming society. It’s time to get off our arses and unite within this society, because we as the next generation have the ability to shape the future, and decide the society in which the next generation will grow up. 

We all feel so impassioned about what is right or wrong, so let’s take a stand. EVERYBODY deserves a voice.

It's Not A Game Anymore

I’m one of those recovery promoters, you know: who DETEST the pro-anorexic movement which seems to treat an eating disorder like a lifestyle choice, as if it’s a game.

But lately, criticizing the “like a game” element has begun to feel somewhat hypocritical, because, to an extent, that’s how it began. One challenge after the next to see how little I could eat, how many times a day I could purge without my parents hearing, the longest I could go without eating. Sick, twisted little games, challenges, with myself.

Me vs. My Body. One big fucking showdown.

The truth is, I think a lot of people labour under that “I could stop whenever I wanted” mentality; they don’t take it seriously. I certainly didn’t. The first time I confided in someone that I was struggling with eating, I managed to convince myself that I was actually LYING, and that my lies made me a bad person, which incurred more self hate and in turn less eating. How WARPED is that? I still do it now, if ever the subject comes up guilt washes over me, like I feel I don’t deserve their angst, their sympathy, their concerns, because all along I was just KIDDING MYSELF that I even had an eating problem.

Then, it hits home that you can’t get out. You’re trapped in a cage you’ve crafted yourself. You get to the bathroom, and you look in the mirror, and you see the fear in your eyes, the pale skin pulled taught over protruding bones, dry lips being bitten in fear. And yet, you force yourself to crouch over that toilet, to force your fingers deep into the back of a throat already aching, and you begin the process all over again.

This control? This power over yourself? This ability to stop, whenever you want? Bullshit, really. And that’s when you realise that you have entered the realms of a full on eating disorder. That moment when you don’t want to purge, when you desperately want to eat, and yet you drag yourself to the bathroom, and push away your salad? That is the moment you realise, you have an eating disorder.

It’s not a game anymore, and it never really was.

Comparisons

You know, there are some days where I look in the mirror and I don't want to die.

I put on an outfit I like, try my hair differently then change it back, bit of make up on. Try out a smile in the mirror, try a pout, and feel... not happy, but I don't completely hate myself.

Yet the second I step out the door, or log onto fucking FACEBOOK, or get talking to somebody on the phone, I feel an overwhelming SHAME at having not hated myself. Does that make sense? Like the instant I see other people, the feelings of ugliness and self hatred and depression all come flooding back.

It just got me thinking, why? WHY does society teach us to care what other people think? It's all perception; in the eye of the beholder as they say. So what one person thinks is completely different to another. It's like ice cream; one flavour, a million different opinions of it. So why do we seem to give a shit what other people think?

The worst part is, half of the time it's not what people think of me, it's what I think they think of me. When I have to stand next to my gorgeous, sexy, beautiful friends I just feel like the ugly duckling, like I don't deserve a place. And yet logically, when I think about it, somewhere somebody does probably think that I am.. I dunno, pretty. 

And, although I say it's society, I blame society... we comprise society. We are the ones who assume we are being compared to everyone else, and so compare everyone else in return, making these ridiculous comparisons somehow acceptable.

There is only one YOU. Fucking cheesie as it sounds, it's true. We are all different, and there will be a million people on this planet who think that WE are beautiful.

Quit fucking comparing everyone, including yourself, and just... relax. Have a cup of tea, try that new hair style, and take a photo. No, don't care about its facebook likes, don't get all competitive with your friends. Just, let it be.

"Why are you anorexic?"

"Why are you anorexic?"

Because it’s easier to control calories than actually taking control of the negativity in my life.

Because an eating disorder instils order among chaos, I have control.

Because this world is spinning too fast for me, and this allows me to keep up.

Because it helps me hold on, I don’t have to grow up anymore.

Because without it, I am nothing.

Because I don't deserve that food, I am worthless.

Because the emptiness of hunger is easier to bare than the emptiness I feel inside.

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All Grown Up

I feel I've lost a lot of time. Do you ever think back to those things you felt when you were younger?

All those dreams, left unrealised? You know, the ones we had as children, that we told our year 1 teacher about; when she nodded, and smiled, and left you with crayons and contentment, allowing those fragile dreams to remain intact for a little while longer.

I wanted to be a trapeze acrobat in a circus. I would swing back and forth in my garden, eyes burning with the images of cheering crowds and ears buzzing with their applause. I read books of girls running away to join the circus, dreamed I'd be beautiful and tall and graceful, that I'd fly through the air and that nothing else would matter.

Yet here I am, left in the tangled ruins of a hangover and regret. Spliffs smoked and guys fucked and shots downed that shouldn't have happened. How did I get like this?

Where is the little girl I once was, soaring through the air on my imaginary trapeze as my pigtails bobbed cheerily in the sunshine? Gone?

Yet sometimes, I feel her still here somewhere. When I'm scared, when I'm alone, I sometimes allow myself to return to that place. To curl up tight on my bedroom floor, squeezing out the world with tear-stained eyelids, and I remember. I feel the sting of grazed knees and kisses of parents, I taste the melting ice-creams and delicious fudge, I hear the singing of happy birthday and my own childish laughter.

Funny, isn't it, how we spend so long wishing we were grown, and yet once we get there, we'd give anything to see the world just once through innocent eyes?