So I’m still feeling bit sick from this daft bug and was so glad I could leave the house I was sitting and just come home. I’ve been craving a bath like a crack addict craves crack. I needed to bath, to submerge my cold, sore body in soothing hot water.
But here I am lying in the bath and I can suddenly see how much hair I have on my body. Omg I am a chimpanzee. I’m not even underweight ffs!! In fact I’ve piled on a kg or so from stupid hormones. Which reminds me that my gynae still hasn’t replied like 9 days later.
So I generally avoid looking at my body. I brush my hair and don’t mind putting on a bit of makeup but when it comes to my body I don’t look at the huge mirror on the inside of my cupboard door as I get dressed. I layer up and off I go. Now in this bath that was supposed to be soothing I remember why I don’t take baths. I see fine hair and burn marks and scars and the flabby skin of my thighs. I see how my stomach isn’t as concave as it felt. The parts of me not in the water are dry and my skin feels tight. I see ugly. I see gluttony. I see no self control. I see sick and broken.
How the hell did I get here? Where is here anyway? What am I doing with my life? What is life like outside of this obsession…I’ve forgotten. In 4 months I have become another person. Or rather become a non-person because I am so detached that I no longer know what being a person means. My whole being is a lie. The smiles. The ‘I have it together’ persona. The hiding and hoarding food. Chewing and spitting. Sitting with my face glued to my phone or laptop or a movie. I realised I don’t think much about anything anymore other than how sick I am, when I will next go to yoga, and going through the motions of the day. And feeling? I don’t feel much other than the odd surge of anger and frustration. I can’t remember when I last felt something; like reeaally felt something such as excitement or love or happiness or even just crying. Having borderline, this is as far removed from me as I can get. I cry all the time normally! I cry when I’m happy or sad or angry or overwhelmed by beauty. I can’t remember the last time I really just cried. Though I feel teary now I can feel the walls holding it back.
I’m singing tonight and I don’t even want to do that. I sing without emotion. The songs are just flat. I don’t connect with them anymore. I don’t connect with much anymore at all.
I hate days like this where I realise how fucked I am. I prefer just going through the motions and believing in my own mask. When I get here, to this aware space in my head, I feel like curling up in a ball and hiding. I don’t know how to get out of here and everyone thinks I’m coping.
Even my therapist just says I must work through The Artist’s Way…which by the by I don’t give a shit about. It is the most pointless book. I’m not out of touch with my inner artist. Being creative is the one thing I am actually doing more than I used to. I don’t need to rehash my past and look at who ‘stunted me creatively’ or ‘who encouraged me’ blah blah fucking blah. I’ve done this. I’ve been over my childhood traumas and done the exploration into my past. It’s done. My issue is now.
Anyway, im rambling and my skin is all wrinkly now. Wrinkly chimpanzee. How sexy. I need to go rehearse.