You, I or She? (Parts 1 and 2)

Apologies for the self-indulgent poem. This is the story of my meth addiction (Meth is called Tina where I am from). The poem is intended to be read in the tone of "'Twas a Night before Christmas", it makes a very harrowing story a lot more light-hearted.

Thanks for reading, if you do...

- PART ONE -​

This tale is a warning, about a vice and its woe,
​
Of the lesson I learnt, and the ones yet to know.​


See, the end is unwritten, might be my final farewell,
​
To the good and the bad, to the heaven and hell.​

But the tale should be told, and so I’ll commence,
I’ll be open and honest and try not cause offence.​

The whole story started less than eighteen months ago,
With me overweight, out-of-shape and my self-esteem low.​


I was awkward and sad but was so sick of my lot,
I’d work out to get thin; it was no novel plot.

But this time I did it. Lost the kilos: twenty-three,
An aesthetic success! But a shock lay waiting for me.​

What I discovered to my horror, when the fat had all gone,
It wasn’t why I’d been unhappy, I’d been mistaken all along.​

When you can’t blame the depression on the layers of fat.
Scapegoat’s gone, veil’s been lifted – now its time to face facts.​

I had hated myself. For which, there’s no easy cure.
But I'd never have guessed what I was about to endure.​


- PART TWO -​

My grim realisation was not as clear as it is now
It’s taken time and reflection to solve the why and how​

So superficial I was that the weight-loss pleased me,
My new body confidence brought me much glee.​


It took a short step in learning that when building your self-worth up,
Needn't do it yourself, if others will do it - you're in luck.​

The more notches you make, the more of them like you,
Each stamp of approval means you’re worth something too.​

But this trick doesn’t work, it’s short shrift at best,
Such validation’s unstable and needs constant redress​

All that matters in this system is that they want you,
No connection required, don't need your desire too.​


Soon I became an object, a thing merely of which you approve,
Such validation is addictive, not before long it consumes you.

This game is never over, the self-worth is never won,
For approval this fleeting, this shallow has soon gone.​

Your entire self-worth crashes right down to the ground,
By one mild-mannered rejection, a snide comment or frown.​


It soon left me quite hollow, couldn’t have liked myself less,
How could finding some comfort possibly worsen this mess?​

But hand in hand with this issue - there's a darker reveal,
A vice with such danger, it barely seems real.​



PARTS THREE, FOUR AND FIVE TO FOLLOW...
 
Love it and can't wait to read the rest!:)

It's amazing isn't it...how we can convince ourselves that we could be truly happy if only___ (fill in the blank) only to find out our unhappiness is so much deeper?
 
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