An honest synopsis...

So, I am to be honest in this blog. Warts and all. To confront the crappy me and to rant against the crappy others. I am not going to hope or pretend this blog will be interesting, it is simply the insecurities of a lone girl. A big girl. Elephanat girl.
I am thoroughly miserable with many things at the moment. I feel my inner self is crumbling a little, because of isolation and general laziness. I am beginning to utterly loathe my appearance again, after building confidence slowly over the past few years. I convinced myself I was the ugliest troll alive when I was entering puberty and could not be disabused of this notion for several years. I became a self destructive time bomb, but got the required therapy before things went too far. And I was okay for a nice few years.
But now I find myself falling back, not as blindly, not as wrecklessly, but still falling back into the melancholy little soul I was before. Not all the time, it's not as all-consuming as it has been. But it's at the back of my mind a lot now. I do not like it but I have to admit - it is comfortable being depressed. I know that world well, I know my place in it.
I am not hideously fat, I am not grotesquely ugly. D finds me beautiful and that is perhaps all that counts. I can be naked and feel pretty around him - though he cannot around me, his self-loathing far surpasses mine (and I don't seem very good at making him feel attractive). My (beautiful, charming and superficially sophisticated) flatmates tut at my disparaging remarks, my friend E said today she had noticed I was not happy and "you know you have nothing to worry about, don't you?", I was shocked to find tears sting my eyes. I am very tall, for a girl. But unfortunately I am not a waif - I am not an Erin O'Connor, more a Kiki de Montparnasse. I feel like an elephant in a dress, I feel cumbersome in pretty clothes. I am not straightforwardly good looking - I would say I have an 'interesting' face. I am surprised when I find myself attractive in photographs, though I do.
I am a terrible girlfriend. D and I are long distance as I took myself away to university last autumn, belatedly, and only really because of a broken heart. As good a reason as any, I think. He was the one that broke my heart, but he ended up fixing it too, and now we find ourselves seperated for weeks by 200 miles. I am not very nice to him, I'm sure there are many reasons why, but they are not a good enough excuse. I panic a lot, about whether the love is real, whether I only allowed myself to be with him again because no-one will love me like he does, or because I was lonely, or horny, or all of the above. Most of the time I know we will be together for a very, very long time. But if I think about it too much I panic again so I have to stop myself. I am still rather young, and I hope it is my youth that makes me want to either run to the hills at the thought of our future, or run straight into his arms. It can change from one minute to the next.
I live with an older friend from home and her young sister. Two sisters who are messy and fun, careless and overbearing, creative and beautiful, feckless and rich. Mostly messy and fun. I make my own room an oasis, a haven, to escape the detritus. I am learning I can be a doormat, and am turning that education into learning how to stand up for myself. They drive me crazy and depress me, but they also make me laugh and are generous with their wine and tobacco.
Enough for now.