Let’s talk: social media and body issues.

It’s nearly been a year. Hi.
The last time I ever wrote on here, I was convinced that my very soul was being torn apart. But that’s a story for another time. Thank you for being here, for hearing me out. Today, I’ll just pour out my feelings, raw and unadulterated. Free, naked whispers of the endless rush of my mind. Settle down, get cosy, relax while you’re here with me. This is my haven, and I wish it brings you some peace, even for but a moment, while the leaves rustle due to a soft breeze.

Inspiration.

It’s all around us, isn’t it? The world is bustling with successful people- filled to the brim and overflowing. Our planet hums with the endless ringing of their laurels that echo in the ceaseless, shrill dinging of the notification bells. One would, of course, assume that the rest of us are just as inspired, if not even more, to see those rising to fame, power and money- the three driving forces. But it seems like we’re lost in the loud stomping and mad cheering. Utterly lost in the rush of adrenaline,and the surges of confidence and the diss tracks. It seems that we are a million faces with the same name. And so here we are, behind a screen. Passive clouds overlooking the buzz of a hectic world, often caught in the blinding flashes of cameras that tear us apart. Models- refined, voluptuous, juicy. All tagged like a bunch of mouthwatering crispy-chicken pieces, piled sky-high on the plate of the world, waved under the noses of the starving. It’s a mad feast indeed. Bodies turn into a mere assembly of skin, flesh and bone- to be taken apart and poked at; to be measured, weighed and frowned at; to be starved, or overstuffed to fit the mould of the world which cackles eternally at it. Bodies, which under the weight of their glares and the heaviness of our hearts are torn apart. Vials of life and beauty, inspiration and creativity feasted upon from inside out. Mauled by the blood-thirsty beasts. The very ones who brutally thrust at your quivering form mountains of knives and screws, all to help in the disassembling of your soul. The clanging of those knives, meant to tempt you, keep resounding in the corners of your mind. Forever it resounds, like the endless pitter patter of a single drop of blood. Like a defeaning silence that drives the world crazy. This is where we’ve come to. We don’t live upon each other’s flesh, but we feed upon each other’s soul. We don’t pull the trigger, slice the wrists, or light the fire. We are but the surge of energy that runs up the fingers and lets out the bullet. But the whisper of thoughts that flows with the blood. But the anxiety turning their insides to ashes. Oh, we are not to be blamed, of course.

As you might have guessed, this was inspired by the ridiculous standards so glamourously waved at our faces over social media. Lost in the emotions, I have switched the narrative point of view quite a few times. But let that be representative of the voices on the media- how quickly perpetrators turn to victims and how, no matter what, a critical voice will always sound. I hope that this sets things into perspective and reminds you to love yourself, the authentic and unique you. Thank you for taking this trip into the depths of my mind.

Sending you loads of love,
Pri xo

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