A monologue

I have this passion in me that is raging and yet quiet at the same time
I don't want to give you the right to tell me that I have failed, or that I have lost
Because ultimately I know I haven't.
And as you read the words of a paranoid person, of which I take entirely no pride in my anxiety at all, know that it is so hard to live with the decisions I or the "Universe" or even God Himself has led me to make, either out of free will or simply by just... happening.
It is so hard that sometimes I want to rip off my clothes on the train and beg people to hold my fats that bulge from the skin that tries to hold it all together, and to hold me as I scream at their terrified faces, and I can't stop crying when this happens, I am mad, and they just have to keep nodding just so that I can be reassured of myself, reassured that I am accepted.
This is me being tired of being composed about how I don't understand what I truly want and whether I want it enough.
I'm not afraid to be big because I know I am beautiful.
But what happens after I slim down? Where do I go from there?
I need to know what's next.
I just need you to know the worth in it.
I am healthy, but there can always be healthy-er ier er ier er
Can I just say that I am enough for myself?
Then again I have to face the fine line between being satisfied and being delusional.
But one thing I know, it's that I will never destroy myself out of rebellion.
With each step I will take as I hike up the hill and down again, I will remember that this is for the better good of my health and my mental strength.
If I love my body now, I will love my body then. The same. I will always be the same person to myself, I will never sell myself out to what society would like to see. Or any other person for that matter.
I am so tired, I should sleep.

I love you.