12/8/2023

I bought myself a bouquet of flowers

I use to intellectualize the idea of receiving flowers

“Is it because they feel they HAVE to?” “They’re just going to die in a week.” “How practical is this?”

It made me an easy girlfriend

I bought the flowers thinking, “Let’s see what the hype is about.”

I was surprised with how much I enjoyed them

Any time they were in my line of sight I’d admire them

I never missed a chance to smell them as I walked by

Man did they smell good

They lasted longer than I thought

Ultimately they brought me joy

Somewhere along the line I learned to value practicality over anything

Maybe I lacked the privilege of exploring desires

If it doesn’t contribute to my survival, it’s not worth it

I’m not worth it…

Somewhere along the line I learned to quiet my needs and desires

So much so, I couldn’t even imagine the hype

I’ve missed out on hundreds of bouquets

Or maybe not, because I also chose partners who couldn’t offer me this kind of joy

Or arguably didn’t want to

I’ve thought about this through the lens of heteronormative gender roles

And feminine versus masculine energies

I’m all for partnership, equality, and dismantling societal norms

So simply speaking for myself,

I have struggled with not being “lady-like” or “feminine enough”

But if I really think about it, I’m pretty proficient with some of these skills

I’ve cared for a partner when ill

Cooked and cleaned to ease a partner’s stress

I’ve given them as much time as they need to lay on my chest for comfort

Not once have I done it because of some societal expectation

In fact, because I’m so mindful of how restrictive and oppressive those perspectives can be I seek to be intentional

I do it because I can and want to

I can identify the ways I can contribute to my partner and I make sure they feel it

I can also take the lead and plan a whole date

I can take care of the bill and even drive us to the restaurant

I can initiate sex

And entertain more than a few cocktails with you

All again, because I can and want to

Up until now I haven’t thought about my partners in this way

I’m more focused on how I can contribute to them

A partner who gifts me flowers is now a non-negotiable

While I’m at it, so is a partner who opens doors for me

Not because I’m entitled

And not because I can’t open my own doors

Or clearly, buy my own flowers

But because a partner who can and wants to is of a different caliber

I’m not entitled to this caliber of a partner

But I’m worthy of one

A partner who wants to contribute to me is sexy

I have no grievances with treating my partner like a man

But, the new standard is, I want him to treat me like a woman

12/7/2023 Our Stories

Because of my past- my stories

I have this constant drive to prove to others… and myself

That I can overcome

It’s this reflex to prove that I am made of steel

I’ve spent a lot of time running away from these stories

And locking away the ones I can’t seem to outrun…

As I become more integrated, I struggle accepting reality

Fearing I won’t be believed

Fearing I will be believed

As I shift the weight of them…

It becomes more apparent that these stories do in fact make me harder to relate to

A feeling, I can’t outrun

I seek escape in art, in thought

Striving to find the humor or the light of darkness

I’m called to it

I suppose there’s a part of me that knows there is comfort and safety in his words

The mirror I find in the timeline leads me to seek another escape…

For a split second I become aware of how quickly he can find me

12/5/2023

I don’t know where to air this out

Finding the words is challenging

It’s isolating

I’ve been experiencing what I can best describe as “social anxiety”

It’s nothing I’ve ever had challenges with

Lately, it’s something I’ve noticed around peers

I’m aware that my self-concept creates a narrative of “not belonging”

I work to check it

To give myself grace and time

“I’m new, I’m still learning, I’m in training”

But it’s not going away…

And I’m beginning to think it won’t go away

The differences…

I struggle relating, connecting, making friends…

I’m ashamed to admit I struggle making friends with peers…

My peers don’t feel like peers

I’ve been lonely all my life

I’m sat with the feeling to explore why this is so bothersome

I guess, part of me was hoping this loneliness and disconnection was due to not finding my “clique”

And this is it, right?

So, I no longer can justify this experience

I don’t know how to joke with them

I pretend laugh

I struggle to find things in common

I hate that all conversations remain as small talk

It’s awkward

Feels like no one gets my personality

I feel I’m playing dress up

Like no one in the room truly believes I’m a peer

The only thing in common we seem to have is picking the same profession

Humor has been my best tool

Not just with my survival but in dealing with trivial things like small talk

It feels like I’m speaking a different language

No one finds me funny

Why is everything so serious?

Maybe I’ve been fortune enough to get by without “social anxiety”

And I’m now struggling to deal with something so new to me

No matter how many different rooms I fight to get in…

I’m still,… alone

12/8/2023

There are four camps based on 4 schools of thought.

The first, Sigmund Freud- the people in this camp seek pleasure and comfort.

The second, Alfred Adler- in this camp, people seek gratification through hardwork forgoing comfort and pleasure.

The third, Carl Jung- the people in this camp seek meaning above all else.

The forth, seek the beauty in this world- truth. These people will forgo all else for the Truth…

Truth above all else is at the core of everything I’ve ever sought out…

11/29/2023

The darkness has followed me all my life

I've concealed it behind locked doors

Hoping the rust doesn't spread to the armor

Darkness makes light of the truth

They pass through

Stealing parts of my soul I can't regenerate

Evil is left in the wake of their destruction

It's Evil...

That's what lies beneath the surface

That's what I've locked away behind hidden exhibits

They've branded me

Carved parts of themselves into my roots

Poison, I can't extract

The Evil ends when I do...

Seeking safety in myself heightens my awareness

Leads me to unlock doors

and jump into wells

Leads me to connect with destruction

I connect with the danger

With the unpredictability of it all

It's out of control

This part of me is fearless

It's fueled by rage and grief

It pays no mind to the pain and suffering of itself

Nor of others

It is relentless destruction

It's inept at holding values and morals

I fear all the things I know I'm capable of

Knowing I could pay it forward ten folds

There's no warmth here

I'd leave ruins behind

I’m cursed

Forever damned to worry about the consequences of my touch

11/27/2023

I think there will always be a rotten part of me

A part I can’t quite connect to

Neither can anyone else

I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to keep it from spreading

Liar

I can watch myself detach from the world around me

I still miss moments

I find myself attempting to gather up previous shots that never even developed

The increased awareness connects the cord

I zone in on the grip,

Follow it down a well

Here, is where you find the poison

Here, is the part of me that has rotten

The twisted up anger and despair expand and contract

It lives…

It’s all lies

That’s the dream and the fear

Nothing ever was what it seemed

Secrets hid in the shadows

After hours, in the silence of my screams

Truths at the tip of my tongue, ready to launch

But held back by teeth

I’ve always been a good listener, great observer

I watch the different versions play around me

Changing their hues from scene to scene

My soul roams from space to space

Seeking something real

Something to attach to

Connect with…

Survival has always been about catching the lie. This game doesn’t send you back to your last saved spot. You guess wrong, you die. I fear lies, liars…

They’re not safe… They’re dangerous. Unpredictable and out of control.

This, this is why my mind isn’t safe

I’m the collector

Collector of stories I hide within me

Deep in a well

So ask me if I’m fine

I’m a liar

11/14/2023

Someone’s tampered with the volume

The muscles in my face are harder to command

My hands can’t connect with anything

Not even each other

I catch myself gazing through objects

Hoping I develop x-ray vision

Anything that helps me find the molecules making up the world around me

Then I can reassure myself it’s real

That I’m real…

I come back to find myself in fragments of routines

Moving with distinct direction but lacking purpose

I reach for the drive

For the anger I know fueling it

I attempt to sift through the sounds

The noises hold me in place

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights linger all day

At night the buzzing intensifies

Louder and louder it goes…

Until it’s current enters my body to take hold of my soul

I’m unreachable

I will do anything to get away

11/12/2023

I wonder if the rage will always be part of me

Something inside me that continues to regenerate

It’s coming from a black hole

I didn’t know I had it… bad

It’s a never ending source of energy

An eternal resource

One I learned to repurpose without knowing

I didn’t know I had it bad

… Until I didn’t have it bad

11/7/2023

11/3

Attempting to articulate these stories feels like I'm navigating through landmines 

One wrong step and... I'm not sure what

But it feels wrong

It feels uncomfortable

It feels new

The sooner I start, the sooner I'm on the other side

I have no idea what's on the other end of this trip

But it must be better than here

At the very least new

I need new

I'm sitting on the train now

I search for the courage

Turn to the window

Let the movie play

It's New Years Eve

We worked

A lot of homes are empty 

People gather together under one roof

The fireworks in the area are loud

Highly illegal but beautiful

I feel them shake the walls as I walk through the front door

The air is mostly sulfur at this point

I quickly scan the living room

The couch is backed up against the wall leading to outside world

I align my spine with it

This always eases my anxiety in new spaces

He locks the door

We're in a bad neighborhood

But when he locks the extra latch I'm heightened

I recognize the smell

I'm frozen

The images vary in clarity

His initial attempts lead me to seek space

I head for the door

My leg is caught on something

Throws my balance off and leads me to the floor

A fight erupts

I collect wood polish under my nails as I reach for the outside world

I find a way to get my legs under me

I got one lock undone

As I work on the second he fuses the door to it's frame

A sharp pain shoots up my nose and behind my eyes

I'm swallowed

I continue my attempts

Reaching for all that I can but my feet don't even reach the floor

The coldness of the room invades my body before he does

11/7

I jammed the tape

Maybe this part doesn't need to be watched

Maybe I'm not ready to

It lives in memories

In all 5 senses

In every cell

Not yet...

11/6/2023

The last four days I've felt uneasy

I replay what I shared over and over in my head

Immediately I yell at myself 

"Why'd you share that?!"

The anxious thoughts flow

"No one needs to know that"

"What, are you going to go around telling every single thing that has happened?"

"It's too much. No one will believe you."

That's my core fear

I manage memories and the noise on my own

The big things-

Bookmarked things, are what I need help with

This, this is constant static

Background noise of my life

"Why would it need to be shared?"

The big things are hard for me

I can barely manage the work for those

These memories play without my permission

Once they finish they rewind themselves and begin again

I've learned to distance myself

This is how I manage

No one needs to know and I don't let it show

"You're a liar."

"There's no way you lived this."

"Of course no one will believe you."

I feel young, vulnerable

Out of control and powerless

It spilled out of me

Like a hose with built up water

I couldn't turn it off fast enough

And I don't know if all of me is content with it only being background noise

(EMDR Session)

I tell her about my preoccupation with information I shared with my other therapist

How I question if this has really been my life

And how I know others will challenge it too

It's not believable 

No one can help me and if it's not believable then what is the point?

I already have targets for EMDR

So I should focus on these

She lets me finish my rant then asks, 

"Are the memories distressing?"

I say, "Not really", as I realize I'm again talking about it with another therapist

I'm paying to talk about my lies

She says, "Would you like to do some processing? Doesn't hurt if it's not real or not distressing?"

I think this is brilliant! 

I'm almost excited

Eager to catch my lie

I'm a liar who wants to be caught

The targets are made

Again I recount events

We focus on number 1

The beginning...

The ball moves back and forth as I summon the images

I hear the fireworks immediately

I smell him soon after

My arms begin to shake

My breathing is fast and shallow

The tears blur out the ball 

I feel stuck

The intensity builds and builds

Then I feel heavy

My body is numb, it's asleep

"I WANT TO DIE"

The thought startles me

She prompts me to follow

But then I feel the thought in my body

The familiar sensation feels real

I want to die, I need to die

I go back to sleep

She prompts me to wake my body and give it a voice

"I'm garbage."

"I'm nothing."

"I'm dirty. Disgusting."

I notice the intense feeling of nausea

I'm going to throw up

My body jerks forward as I try not to throw up on myself

The ball moves back and forth

Heat builds on the right side of my face

I'm preoccupied with the vomit

I try to go back to numb

"I'm here with you. It's ok to be curious."

I think about the vomit

The disgust

The emotion comes in hot, literally

Shame

My whole face and neck are hot

Really hot

"What do you notice?"

My brain scans my body, my emotions, my history

"There's anger" I say surprised

"Yes! Yes! Go with it", she says

I feel this deep vibration in the pit of my stomach rising

It's not vomit

I begin shaking and panting

I'm consumed with rage

"It's anger!"

My head feels like it will shoot right off

"Look at me. We're going to tap"

I don't recall how but I'm grounded

I feel the clamminess of my skin

I'm cold in this chilly room now

I look down at the desk

I mumble, "It was real..."

11/5/2023

My work day ended hours ago. Everything feels robotic. Rehearsed. When I arrive home, I immediately get undressed and pace around. I attempt to parent myself. To parent the self-destructive parts of me that are about to go off. I move with urgency. “What do you need right now?” I find myself under the sun. The heat stings my skin a little but I enjoy it. I hope it sets fire to my skin. Maybe that will make it stop. I’m in and out. I become aware of lost time but don’t know what I’ve done with it.

The dam holds back what I can’t disconnect from. Regardless, the tears flow. I move in silence. I begin cooking dinner, only surrounding myself with the sound of rice boiling and tofu searing on the pan. I finish and realize I’m not hungry. I pace around, change, and head out the door. Each step feels like a ripple of vibrations entering the earth. I can almost hear it. Upon my return I attempt to eat but abandon the plate a few bites in. I sat on my couch listening to nothing but the city. The sounds of cars pushing through air travels up the sides of the building. I hear the wheel of a bike rumble as gears change. You can hear the distance echoes of honking and sirens. The slamming of car doors and voices reach my ears.

“Paint”, I command. I don’t move. “Write”, frozen.

I don’t bother lying to myself by grabbing a glass. From my balcony, I watch the evening crows soar. I’m envious of their lightness. I’m stalling. The cells in my body are finally settling down. I notice the headache and jaw pain.

It’s sweet. Like dark, ripe fruit. There is an earthy taste, like wet wood. It’s not dry but there’s a smoke, dry taste to it. My mouth fills with saliva and the sweetness quickly fades. It’s sweeter than I anticipated. Bitter but sweet. Like dark cherry, raspberry, or maybe even blue berry. I like flavors like this. Like wet dirt and moist wood. I check my guesses before deciding, “ok, now”

Half way in the dam breaks.

He noticed the leaves yellowing. Unsure if he was loving it to much or not enough. “I remember you telling me it doesn’t need much water”. He sets it free outside hoping the sun will care for it. He finds it knocked over, “It may be dead”. He scoops ups the remains and contains them in a plastic bag.

The image of this sticks with me. Despite transparency, not everyone will understand how to care for this plant. He didn’t know how to love it so he set it free. Only to regret it resulting in it’s death. The end of something. The death of us.

“I've got no place

Buildin' you a rocket up to outer space

I watch you fade

Keeping the lights on in this forsaken place

Little star

Feels like you fell right on my head

Gave you away to the wind

I hope it was worth it in the end

You and my guitar

I think you may be my only friend

I’d gave it all to see you shine again

I hope it was worth it in the end

Us against the world

Just a couple sinner's makin' fun of hell

If I keep you here

I'll only be doing this for myself

Little star

Feels like you fell right on my head

Gave you away to the wind

I hope it was worth it in the end

Yеah, I hope so

Think you may be my only friend

I gavе it all to see you shine again

I hope it was worth it in the end

I know this thing is broken

So I leave my door wide open

Been some time since we've spoken

One day we'll meet again

Some distance when you're older

You'll come lean on my shoulder

Tell me that storm is over

That day we meet again

Feels like you fell right on my head

Gave you away to the wind

I hope it was worth it in the end

You and my guitar

I think you may be my only friend

I gave you away (Mh-mhhm-hmm)

I hope it was worth it in the end”

“I’m sorry”

The silence is gone

I’ve spent 9 months containing the anguish

I can no longer hear the city, only myself

I’ve let the real artists and poets of this world speak

I left it up to them to describe the horrors of ruins left from love

So much of it resonates

Yet so much of it only scratches the surface

I wish I could say this was my first understanding of it

The despair resulting from love

Loving anything comes with grief

I desire to love your mess

But no one ever believes me

How could you, when you can’t hear me?

Just like her, he couldn’t love himself enough to make it to me

Maybe it isn’t that

I’m growing to love myself

Yet, I can meet you in any dark alley

I don’t have the right words or actions to cure your pain

Nor do I intend to

But, I can meet you

I show up at every train station and terminal

At each baggage claim, ready

I watch others grab their baggage

Connect with those who see them

I wait until the carousel stops

There is nothing to wait for…

Just like her, he tells me his actions don’t reflect his desires

Yet, I’m standing in a terminal ready with my carefully sorted through baggage

Waiting for yours

You never make it to the airport

I don’t even think you’ve packed a bag

Once again, I exit the terminal

Attempting to maintain my posture

I distance myself

Refusing to let you or anyone else know how destroyed I feel

I launch my baggage into the trunk

Start the car

And leave

I try to make sense of the reasons they give me

How could something expressed so positively be the downfall?

How could you see greatness in me and yet want nothing to do with it?

He sees me going to outer space

Builds the rocket

But doesn’t think to join me?

None of it makes sense

Why am I so hard to love?

11/3/2023

I pulled at the thread and suddenly find myself vomiting up memories

Quickly they come out of me

Brief, tangential

The scariness of the memories is not lost on me

They're clear memories that have lingered in corners

They're background noise

Constant but at times, like now, they're loud

I notice the challenge connecting my thoughts with my voice

The wire isn't severed but it's clearly damaged

I'm cold, I think?

The goosebumps roam my body

It itches as the cycle ends and begins again

I'm delaying

Saying it was hard

But you can't prove I said it

There's no record

Publishing it is harder

I can't take it back once I can see what I said

See what I thought, what I lived

It's a memory

A story in a timeline

Am I giving it more power?

11/3/2023

The train pulls up

Letting out a deep belly sigh

The door to the first cart slows down and stops right in front of me

I see my reflection for a split second before the doors open 

I look down the line and notice how long this train is

I let out a deep belly sigh

The train startles me as it calls out to me

It's time...

My heart beats in my head

It echoes in my fish bowl

He's marked on my right foot

I lead with it

At this intersection I chose forward

The hairs on my back rise as the door closes behind me

There is no going back

There is no unknowing 

10/31/2023

10/31

The day the barrier between the spiritual and physical world becomes perforated

When continuity is ruptured in the realm of worlds

Where souls in journey and those in transition can meet

I often wonder about the roots of my soul's existence 

10/30/2023

I hear the siren a few times on my way to work. The nausea is pretty prominent. I repeat, "There's no siren. There's no siren". As I focus on my breathing. It's been some time since it was this clear and frequent.

(Dream)

The details got away from me. There is some party, lots of people on a large property. I go find my sister. It's someone I know but I don't know why she's my sister in this dream. I go tell her that I got a heads up and they're coming for me. I'm about to leave, to run for it, but at the same time it's like I'm avoiding this. I'm delaying it. 20 helicopters show up. A grip of units peel into the property. Sending particles of dirt everywhere. The pale woman asks me if I speak English before directing my hands to my back.I comply.

I feel... I hear, the first click. I begin gasping for air as I fall to my knees

I'm jolted awake

My eyes scan the darkness for clarity

My chest is compressing into itself

I recognize my bed

"Fuck", I think as I recognize I'm in the middle of a panic attack

I mistakenly try to recall the dream

I feel the cool metal on my wrist

Sending me into complete terror

I want it out of me, off of me

I peel my clothes off, item by item

I'm sweating at this point

Rigid but trembling 

I find myself sitting up on the bed

Back against the wall in my underwear

I'm shivering

Unsure if it's a result of the panic or the cold air hitting my sweaty body

My face and head ache

My muscles feel tired 

I try not to pass judgment on myself

Try not to feel the disappointment and sense of failure

I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling 

Couldn't tell you what the question was exactly

But my response was a begrudging... "fine". 

I justify the suppression of this one due to the risk. I know the cost of opening my mouth. I know the lengths they'll go to make sure nothing ever comes out of me. I rewarded them with my silence. They earned it...I ran, doing my best to never look back. The echoes petrify me.Like real sirens, unclear from what direction it's coming from. Only knowing that it's approaching and fast

My mental state was functional

Distant, absent but manageable

I was managing. I was numb, detached, and reckless with myself. Inviting more harm. I gave up my defenses. I see the lights first. My body tightens up for the fight. The sirens follows. When he approaches my window I accept it, but when he calls my name I leave. I'm just... gone. My name clarifies the danger of this situation. His words cut through me but the painkillers flow through my body. I feel nothing. I'm berated, humiliated. But not in this moment. In this moment, I feel nothing. Most of it I've forgotten. Least that's what I tell myself. My lawyer described the footage as "painful" to watch.

He slams me up against the unit. Bending me sharply at the hips. He stands behind me laughing as he gropes at my body. He locks the first one...These marks will linger for days. Traces of him will be left on my wrists, arms, and hips. I'm thrown in the back. Landing on my face.

I'm connected to a bench on the floor. My spine shoots pain down my legs.

Soon two of them sit on me as my blood is drawn. They put part of my uniform on in the process so now I'm threatened to be thrown in with general pop. I don't say it but I'd feel safer in that cage than in this room of uniforms. One of them is very angry. So angry I can feel him even when I'm checked out. He watches me closely. His blood is boiling at the sight of me. He comes for me… Releasing me from the bench. He calls over his accomplice. My arms are restrained as he whispers, "I'm going to do the rape kit myself you lying bitch". The scent is here… I smell it off him and this brings me back into my body. My legs drag behind me as they carry me down a dark hallway. We're approaching a dark room. I launch my legs up against the door frame. Locking my legs. My wrists are twisting in and I want to give up. In a split second I make the choice-I'd rather die. So I fight to piss them off. Maybe they'll accidently go too far. I swing my legs back down, targeting one of their knees. He releases my arm and I elbow him straight in the face before the other slams me against the wall. I feel his hands trembling. He doesn't feel like rage… I swing my head back, rocking his balance. I begin to scream so loud I feel something ripping in my throat.

The sergeant returns upset by my troublemaking. He "okay-s" my release to a coworker.

I'm full of rage. Slow growing, but silent. I don't say a word. The stream of tears seem endless. I can hear the road below us. The thought is still very vivid for me.

"I'm done..."

I open the door and launch myself. The asphalt bounces off my body. After a few moments I notice the horror of breathing persists. A deep belly cry begins then it turns into a panic attack. I'm enraged with my existence. I punch my face over and over until he comes running to restrain me. I'm fighting him. I'm angry with any obstacle keeping me from relief. He holds me till the energy runs out then carries my limp body back in the car. I try again a few moments later with a razor. Again, he restrains me. I postpone my attempts till tomorrow

Fine…

10/28/2023

Yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans

To be more specific, I bought my first pair of unconditional jeans

No terms or conditions jeans

I’ve purchased several jeans in the last few decades but not one was free of unattainable standards or criticism

Sometimes the purchase was a reward for my commitment to restrictions

I’d squeeze my calves and relentless ass into this unforgiving fabric

Then I’d feel this sense of accomplishment and satisfaction

Sometimes the purchase was a punishment

To prove to some part of myself I was not enough

Wasn’t committed enough, beautiful enough

So, I’d shove the evidence in my own face

Tell myself how unworthy I was and here were the numbers to prove it

My jeans could only be purchased from the same store

The variation in sizes depending on brands was dangerous for me

It could send me into a deep self-depreciating spiral

It could tell me once again it wasn’t enough

Leading to more punishment

Punishment I was in control of

Punishment I could describe as fair

It made sense, it was tangible

I could predict it

Letting go of control is painfully terrifying

My emotions and body respond like I am to be met some sort of torturous death

I’ve avoided mirrors all my life

Doing my makeup and hair with handheld mirrors

Never having to face,…myself

Showering and getting dressed like I’m in bootcamp

I held record times…

Sometimes I still leave my apartment with things on backwards or mismatched for not double-checking

The feeling is like being pants and then shitting yourself on stage surrounded by 50,000 people

Except you’re alone

Over and over, it happens

Every. Single. Day. because how do you leave your body behind?

I’m stuck with this defective meat suit

So, you find ways to manage

Up and down my weight goes

Neither resulting in me loving myself

I never even “looked” malnourished

This also became a weapon, “You can’t even do anorexia, right?”

I spent the last 10 years trying to avoid jeans

In the era of leggings and yoga pants I’ve gone undetected

Especially with COVID

If someone notices my clear aversion to it, I simply note the fabric is bothersome and doesn’t feel breathable

People often offer solutions such as different brands or styles

I let the information slip

I feared being sucked back into dancing with the devil

I’ve kept two pair of jeans however, every once in a while, attempting to slip them on

I feel this is a reasonable size as it’s in-between my lowest and highest weight

Yet the last 4 years they have not gone past my thighs

Again, I’m caught with my pants down

I pull them off like I’m brushing off spiders crawling up my legs

Put them back in the closet

Food will become disgusting and incredibly appealing all at once

I’ll cycle into states of restriction leading to binging, potential purging, and then indifference until I can repress the obsession

I can delay it until the next slip, thought of my weight, comment on my body, or urge to try on these two pairs of jeans

I don’t weigh myself for this exact reason

Can’t even remember when that stopped

Maybe almost 15 years ago

I have it blocked off medical charts if needed

I write 160lbs on anything requiring my weight like my license

I watch myself search for things I can control

Things I can make sense of and seek safety in for brief moments

Convincing myself I’m better in these spaces

Even if I’m hurting myself, I’M hurting myself

I can beat you to the punch

I can hurt myself far more and better than you ever could

I learned from the best…

The cycle began around age 10

Prior to this my family still accosted me with comments on my body any chance they got

I just didn’t understand how food and exercise played a role in what it looked like...

Not yet at least

My mother taught me

She could “help me”, she said

I was standing in the dressing room with her

This new school was trying to look less shitty by requiring more uniformed clothing

Here we are trying to find tan and black Dickies pants

Dickies are made of another unforgiving material and sizes run up

Least for women-I was in between a 12 or 14 in women

I remember because my mother noted I was double her size, a 6.

Children clothes didn’t fit my thighs or chest quiet right so I was indoctrinated into this “size vs women” world as a child

I was standing in that dressing room in just my underwear and socks

I was humiliated as she scanned my body

Pinching and grabbing at the extra stuff

Highlighting the width of the waist band of pants I was about to put on

I wanted to cry

But I didn’t because I knew the response was 1 of 2 options

I infuriate her for making her feel like an asshole when she is trying to help, eventually leading to her striking me

Or she’d get off on the crying and laugh at how ridiculous I’m being

She doesn’t cry so it makes her better than me

I did my best to avoid these interactions with her

I did my best to be likeable

And how do you get the mean girl at the High School to like you?

Hate the person she most despises, … me

Exploring these memories often feels harsh

I question whether I recall them correctly

But then I have friends from childhood make note of me taking diet pills in fourth grade

Younger than my memories go

The feelings that arise in my body make it clear this is true

I imagine a 4th grader on Hydroxycut…

It’s horrifying

That child is me…

In this moment I can feel compassion

I can see why I am the way I am

Then there is just sadness because of how hard it is to undo…

So, yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans

On my period of all circumstances

I forgot my meds and prep this month so my inflammation disorder is out of control

Looks like I’m in my first trimester

I decided last year that I’d make an attempt to care for myself

My physical self, 1x a year… seems reasonable

I spent the entire month contemplating different options of care

Clothes? Jewelry? Makeup?

What does She want?

Here I am, few days before only realizing jeans was always it

I tell myself over and over that the number doesn’t mean anything

I’m struggling to prepare myself

I go into it consciously knowing I am risking exposure to a serious trigger

I walk into the store

Not a brand I’ve ever known my size in

I briefly scan the styles

Immediately filtering the tighter styles

I grab a few baggy options and stretch options

I close the door and take a deep breath

The mirror begins

“Gross” “Look at your cellulite” “You could be so much better” “Look at the spots”

I close my eyes

I try again

I try really hard

I slip on the first pair

I notice I misread the size. It’s a size 2

There is no way this is going past my ankle let alone a thigh

I can hear my heart beating as I think, “Fuck”

I return with more sizes

I decide to go with the larger sizes first

I think it could be easier to stop when it fits

Versus having to watch myself reach for the next larger size

The first one mostly fits

But there is this big gap on my lower back

I know I can’t go smaller so I reach for the stretchy style 

I rotate one time

Avoiding my face

“Ok, done”

I head directly to check out and exit the mall

When I get home I toss the jeans into the closet

One hurdle at a time

10/24/2023

She tells me with her 40 years of experience my mom is one of the worst she's known

I noticed the reflex of wanting to defend her

She's sick, yes

But that's only an explanation no longer a justification

She notes my experiences are compounded and traumatic

Unique experiences only leading to a unique result

But aren't we all?

This is brought up because of this stupid pink movie

A movie I didn't even care to see

The annoyance is my resistance to yet another way I have to confront this.. thing

The thing about being different

The thing about being alone and not relating

Today I'm tired

There isn't enough in me to fight that reality

So I acknowledge the sadness

The reality of being surrounded by people but often feeling so utterly alone

I tell her I'm seeking peers

She reassures me they're somewhere around here

But a majority live off 5th and San Pedro

So it's just going to be harder to find now

She tells me it's not impossible

And that I am proof of that

Yet this statement isn't comforting

And maybe it's not meant to be

I'm seeking comfort in something that's never been nor will be comfortable

Often I feel the only difference is I’ve learned to hide my mess

Unless you watch closely, you’ll miss me

Prior to this I spoke with my other therapist

The loudest statement playing over in my head is about my contribution

Just because my experience isn’t the experience of most

Does not undervalue it

My experience can be of contribution if shared

It sticks with me because I think this sums up my internal conflict

How do I balance my existence with the loud backdrop of my history?

So I’m not lost in all the noise

I’m not interested in being the poster child for these types of stories

10/24/2023

When he spoke of his name

I felt he was telling my secrets

He explained the difference between the C and the K

The curtain unveiled the difference

I few years ago I would of dismissed this notion

The use of an E versus an A

It's a shocking realization

But it's true,

I got to be someone different

The E holds no mess

It helps maintain the distance

Since the A is the key that unlocks the door to darkness

It's the absence of light

Ironically so,

As it's also a spotlight

To something I don't want you to know

See the A is unique

It's specific

And if you can find me...

Then so can the darkness 

10/24/2023

When the air grows crisper

And the leaves begin to decay

I am alerted of anniversary dates

I've longed to keep at bay

Each year I mark the walls of my soul

Counting the distance

Hoping it’ll grow