Everything I stand for now, and everything that keeps my feet on the ground; still feels the exact same way as it felt before. I’m still me, the core is still in tact. Completely, the insecurities still there, but I’m coping – more than coping.
The way I’d examine so intimately, every little detail; I’d submiss any general prettiness of myself and exaggerate the faults, the flaws; turning up the volume on all my niggling doubts and insecurities. I’d remember every cruel word said against me; the knock-kneed nobody with the jam-jar glasses; replay my fathers abusive tongue, the kids in the schoolyard, the mentally unstable people I’ve been close to; the men, the boys. I’d replay it until I believed it more than anything else. It would distract me to such a degree that I could barely leave the house at times. I felt disabled and often void of worth.
Or maybe I was just avoiding life by concentrating on the negative, by this wallowing self-pity or occasional apathetic negligence.
I was never so unbelievably lost though, to the extent that I didn’t realize I was consumed with was an aesthetic and could often pull myself away from it in short periods. I realized how shallow this physical obsession was; but still I relied on it; if I just purge this once, if I just spend my money on cigarettes and alcohol; if I just do a hundred sit-ups every night and run up and down the stairs twenty times.
But I’m getting better, and there are things about me, that I’ve came to accept. Kinder words, I like to replay instead, these days.
But there was no keeping it up. Whatever short cut I was applying, would never work fast enough. I wanted to see results now. I was impatient and quick to disappoint. I realize now a lot of my mood swings; the irritability was brought on because my standards were so high, such unrealistic goals and ambitions. And maybe I got so angry because deep down I knew I didn’t even want that at all. And maybe I never maintained a 7 stone figure because I knew, really, was that was I was about? Feeling weak and frail and exhausted; and so empty all the time?
“If you don’t know what you want,” the doorman said, “you end up with a lot you don’t.” Chuck Palahniuk
I would become so hungry I’d binge, and my body just stored the weight. The alcohol was sugary; the cigarettes hounded my throat. “I just couldn’t resist.” – “Why do I do this to myself?”
I needed something more. Something long term. I needed to walk the long way around.
When I think about the vast scope of mental health issues; despite the huge deviance, we’re all one and the same. I’m an existentialist, by default. I fell in love with the concept after watching Huckabee’s at my friend Kyle’s house in Manchester last year.
I recall a conversation with my friend Kaytie who studies mental health nursing at University and she was telling me about this lecturer who put it in such a way with regard to neurosis and psychosis. I can see potential food pelting for the opinion I’m about to reiterate with full support. This is what he said:
“Neurotics are like children who build castles in the sky, Psychotics are foolish enough to live in them.”
Did I build a castle? Did I get a mortgage or just rent? Did I just build a shack? A rotten shack so I decided to move back home? Did I even live there at all? Perhaps. I’m possibly just talking cod shit again.
I still sometimes drink – I still sometimes get very drunk. I don’t rely so much anymore.
I still sometimes smoke. – I still sometimes get a hoarse throat. I stop for days and weeks at a time. I don’t always need them to help untie bitter knots in my brain.
I still sometimes spend too long in front of the mirror; sometimes I can’t bring myself to look at all. – But I’m getting better, and there are things about me, that I’ve came to accept. Kinder words, I like to replay instead, these days.
But I eat when I’m hungry and I try to eat healthy. I do sit ups now and then, I go for walks and sometimes I swim. I listen to the sounds of the birds, and I play with my baby niece. I want to help her read when she’s old enough.
I still have scars, emotional, physical. I think of lines like, “I just don’t want to die without a few scars.” I think, stop being so afraid of experience, it will happen with or without your consent. Absolve. These scars do not justify my actions or define me. They are merely a difficult time I overcame. Still, at times, and in little ways, am overcoming.
There’s something healthy about having flaws, about being okay with your ailments and your eccentricities. Not needing to make this bigger, that smaller, that flatter, this fatter; this whole ideal of a rigid edge where there ought to be a curve – looking like woman who are portrayed in the media. Do you ever consider the fallen icons? The drugged up rock stars? The fame and fortune and the glamour and success that often crushes its occupier?
There’s something natural and beautiful in curvaceous OR slender that falls where it may. You don’t have to be the prettiest girl in the room; she’s probably miserable anyway, no matter how it looks on the outside. You have no idea about her interior. And if she’s a good person, then why not strive for that? That’s what matters after all. – When the looks fade and time does its damage.
I’m not religious, but I do think that there are some real good guidelines and morals in the Bible. Its a pretty severe read and maybe you should just watch the film. Or better yet, watch ‘Se7en’. There’s a reason we shouldn’t be so consumed by these sins, even if we occasionally get what we think or thought we wanted.
“May I never be complete. May I never be content. May I never be perfect. Deliver me… from being perfect and complete.” Chuck Palahniuk
And I wouldnt say that I’ve got it all figured out, or anything even close to that. And I know Ill make mistakes again, but now I feel I’m finally learning from the old ones. Really hearing people when they speak.
“I’m sane but I’m overwhelmed. I’m lost but I’m hopeful” Alanis Morissette.