Jul 8
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Just. Hm. Limited physical activity, sweets all day during perpetual computer time, stress, lack of sleep.. I do look like the me currently living in our mirror. Is that fine? Objectively, yes. Do I enjoy it? Not most times. It's hard to come to terms with, and harder still to accept I can't change it with my condition(s). But it is what I have, and for now that's at the very least okay.
It's hard to look at myself when I'm not skinny but not exactly large either. I'm not "prettyfat" where it distributed equally- I look pregnant if anything, and I have since I was six. To the point that I've needed to cover up to avoid questions on if I was carrying.. Around that age and up. My body that I live in is very cruel to me, for many reasons, but I'm slowly trying to come to terms and like it. I see myself in it. I have a connection. But.. I don't know if that's enough to feel comfortable.
It's tiresome, I guess, to only see your body type in fetishism content. Tiresome to not know if it's natural or part of any underlying cause - my intestines could be in the wrong place and cause me to look bloated. I could have something I don't know about decaying me. But I've looked like this since birth and it just gets worse with age.. it's hard being a girl that's both fat and ugly, so I was male for a while.. but even then it wasn't right. It feels so dehumanising to only be seen as a fantastical fetishism bodytype. But I guess they look like me.
I lost track of my rant. Happy 6am.
Sitting here brewing in my early AMV addled brain and making connections that have been lost to a current fandom miasma.
That last post made me realise I have thoughts on that.. Speaking as the dead man in that hypothetical situation there is no way that Light didn't, at the very least, clutch onto my body with dull talons and partake of my lips with such intense hunger, such slowly building madness that had come to the peak, that he tasted the blood of man.
And in that moment I'm sure he had the revelation in his sudden catharsis that it was over and the newly sundered void in his heart, or even his very soul, was expected, yet aching and devouring and hungering just as he had, and that nothing he could do to my limp form would sate it.
His last meal left behind a beast in want that was doomed to awaken at the start, and it ruined him, starved him, infuriated him. In a way I would now never leave him alone, his victory hollow and bitter instead of sweet and everlasting. He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, dwelleth in me, and I in him. Anyway.
