Today, I asked myself a brutally honest question: Am I happy?
The truth is, I don’t think I am. Everything I once loved now feels like a chore. My mental health is plummeting every minute, and I can’t help but wonder why I’m putting myself through this.
As a child, I dreamt of being in the public eye, but now, I’m questioning that dream. The constant flood of DMs and comments serves as a cruel reminder of everything I’ve tried to escape. Traumas resurface, and I’m triggered all over again.
It took me years to appreciate my reflection in the mirror, but now I doubt it. I’ve been called fat and obese so many times that I’ve started eating less, checking the scale every morning. If the number goes up, I’m terrified to be in front of the camera.
Being called ugly and retarded has become so normal that it doesn’t even faze me anymore.
Maybe they are right
But what hurts the most is that, despite everything, I’m still doing it. I don’t even know what I’m trying to prove. My mental health takes hit after hit, and yet I keep recording and following a pointless dream.
It feels like I’m addicted to the negativity, searching for those comments to justify how I feel inside. I hate this feeling, and I hate being here.
I don’t know what else to say. Wiping away tears, I brace myself for another day tomorrow.
Let’s smile for the camera 😊