I don’t consider myself a good person.
I have been around too many narcissists who claimed to live by self-sacrifice rather than self-indulgence and I fear that the day I start to pat myself on the back, will be the day I transformed into the very presence that I tried to grow away from. That’s not to say that everyone else shouldn’t take some time out of their day to remind themselves that they are wonderful for even just getting up in the morning– my fear just runs as deep as the Mariana Trench, but that doesn’t mean yours has to as well. So I call myself a decent person. I keep my head down, let people live their lives, and offer help whenever it’s needed. I mind my business and unless someone is directly harming another person/ group of people, I stay out of whatever life that isn’t mine because in the end, we are all headed towards the same unknown afterlife and it will never be my place to say that I spent my life better than you did yours. With that being said, I stopped caring about writing on this page because I stopped wanting my life to be shared on the internet where all my friends, family and colleagues could read about the most vulnerable parts of me in a little text box. Besides that, I was told that over-sharing was “tacky” and embarrassing. So, in fear that I wouldn’t be liked, (gag!! be yourself!!)I pushed myself away from here. Of course, I still wrote my poems on social media, but those were just experiences coated in metaphors. Lately, I have written a lot of poems. I didn’t want to talk to the people around me (except my partner) and so it became a way to cope with the things that surrounded me. It offered me a place in my mind that allowed me to speak when I felt my voice had been ripped from my chest. A lot of things have happened that made me feel like that– made me feel small in comparison to other people. I experienced rampant misogyny, biphobia, and disrespect as a person. Oftentimes, I became ill in the after events of the many uncomfortable experiences I was fed. Nausea and shakiness riddled me, like it aided anger that was too eager to spill out of me. And the more I was put in those positions, the more I tried to make up for all the bad the world had done to other people, too. I often found myself giving money and time I didn’t have, to people who needed it in the slightest because the people who hurt them would never make up for what they put them through, but maybe I could ease it. Don’t get me wrong, I will never stop trying to give as much as I can, especially to those who need it more. But, throughout this time, I forgot to take care of the body and soul that homed me. I set my own feelings, thoughts, and identity to make people comfortable and unfortunately, that also included people who expected me to rip out parts of me to satisfy their own beliefs. Eventually, I became a reconstruction of a person to them, rather than a person who needed structure as well. I wrote this post as a public apology to myself. I forgot that you were here. I forgot that you had a life to live as well. I’m sorry that I let others be okay with letting you put your own comfort aside for theirs too many times. And I want all of you to apologize to yourselves as well. It is okay to help, it is okay to be nice, but it is never okay to neglect your mental health to keep the peace. Take care of yourselves. Tell your body and soul that it did a very good job of keeping you here. You should never have to change who you are, for the sake of someone else. You are beautiful and brilliant and mesmerizing. You have one life— one incredibly short time on this plant. Do good, but also feel good. You are not a pie. You do not have to cut pieces of yourself off until everyone is satisfied. You are the sun– glowing bright, untouchable, and bringing light to all those who surround you. With lots of warm love, Perseph
0 Comments
*CONTENT WARNING: mentions of abuse.* I haven’t known what to post for quite some time. There is so much I want to say to you– so much I want to share– but figuring out how to reintroduce myself was the hardest part. I rewrote this post many times over because nothing felt good enough. Then, at a Christmas party, I got a little bit tipsy and admitted something that I hadn’t quite come to terms with sober. It was something that I now believe was the reason for my long absence– the abuse I endured over the course of an undisclosed amount of time. That abuse broke, molded, and reshaped the person that has now come back to the keyboard and today I want to talk about the aftermath. I want to talk about the subtle, creeping effects that haunt me in my everyday life, in hopes that there are people out there that are experiencing the same. I want to preface this blog post by mentioning two things:
With that being said, this part of my life still affects me and here’s how: Losing Identity: If you’re not familiar with the term “love-bombing”, it is often defined as the act of excessively giving someone affection and attention to ultimately control and manipulate them. That is often how most abuse starts and my case was no different. I was told I was loved, special, and one of a kind. I was given flowers & food and was made to feel like there was no one else in the world that loved me just as much as they did. Then, like a tsunami on a sunny day, the subtle put downs became aggressive and near constant. I was in his complete control and slowly, he poisoned my sense of self identity. At first, I wasn’t allowed to drink or smoke. Then as time went on, I was only eating what he wanted to eat and drinking only what he wanted to drink. There was an instance during a drive-thru stop in which I wanted soda, but he wanted juice. I told our server juice and he got mad because he didn’t like soda and therefore, he couldn’t steal some of my drink when he was done. From then on, I only ordered juice. Suddenly, I realized that I wasn’t allowed to wear all black or get piercings or spend money on myself because I “owed him for all the times he paid for me” and he “didn’t like women who looked like that.” I was no longer my own person. I was a shell of an idea that someone created in their head and when the break-up inevitably happened, I no longer recognized the person staring back at me in the mirror. I was something broken and thrown out on the street as if I was no longer of use. Navigating life after abuse was going to prove itself to be one of the toughest challenges I faced. Which brings me to my next effect: Having to Regain Identity: I’m not going to lie, I threw myself into finding out who I was. I was scared. I had no friends, I felt like I hadn’t talked to my family properly for such a long time, and I had no idea what I liked. I was told what to like and how to act for quite some time, so when I was finally free, I spent a long time trying to figure that out. I’m still figuring it out. I can tell you that I immediately dyed my hair, got my piercings, and dressed in all black— every bit of what he hated. I knew it was going to take some time to fully feel comfortable with myself, but it was a start. I made friends at work and for once in my life, didn’t feel like someone was looking over my shoulder. Trying to figure out the person I was going to be was a very frightening journey I had to go on. It left me completely frozen in fear that people wouldn’t approve of the person I chose to be. I double-thought everything, hoping that all the decisions I made were right. I’m here to tell you that those decisions are completely right. You are allowed to be whoever you want to be, please do not let that little voice in the back of your head dictate you. One of my greatest accomplishments is also my saddest one: the woman I am was just created a couple of years ago. I don’t remember who I was before or during, but sometimes I mourn for her and that is the hardest part. Mannerisms That Stick: It’s known that when you are around someone long enough, you adopt certain mannerisms the other person has; whether it’s the way you eat your chips or the way you set a table. Unfortunately, I adopted a lot more than I could have imagined– it has not been easy. Every time I accidentally raise my brow as he once did or talk in a voice that he once talked in, I become nauseous. It’s not easy to see your abuser in the way you smile or the way you hold your cup and when it does happen, I have this deep seated hatred for the person that I am in that moment. I realize it’s not fair to myself to feel that way, but I cannot help but stop laughing the moment I hear his laughter in my voice. I want nothing to do with him and I do not want any part of him in me. Problems with Being Given Orders: Lastly, I cannot take orders from people. I never noticed this part of the aftermath until the other day when someone made me feel small and like I couldn’t handle myself. I was being told what to do for a good portion of my life, by someone who had no business doing that to me. I refuse to take orders if they are not in a professional setting, I refuse to feel captive again. I refuse to be told what to do when I am completely capable of handling myself. I am not a child. I am a 20 something year old with a full time job, bills and a sense of self identity. You don't own me. If you made it this far and connected with anything I felt, I want to tell you this: You are going to be okay. You are going to find yourself finally living, finally breathing and finally being you. You will find yourself in the deepest corners that you hid and I promise that you are not alone. Abuse is not love. Love holds you, heals you, and grows with you. It does not hold you captive in someone else’s beliefs. I’m here to talk if you need to, but please remember that you are allowed to love every bit of yourself, despite what others tell you. You may find yourself hating the bits of you that remind you of what you came from, but that does not make you who you are. As I grow with this, I hope you do as well. With much love, Persephanon. If you or someone you know is suffering from abuse, these are some numbers to find help: National Domestic Violence Hotline: (800)-799-7233 National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 (Please feel free to comment or contact me with more links/ numbers and I will add them.) Hello my old friends. It’s been quite a long time since I shared another intimate part of myself with you, but with a gratefully hopeful smile, I bring you some news:
I will be rebranding this blog page. When I started Crazy Stupid Time, I was a 16 year old girl with dreams of becoming a world renowned writer who just wanted to share all the incredibly magnificent things she saw in her everyday life. Do not get me wrong, that dream hasn't changed; but with time as my lifelong partner, my age has. I am 22 now. An adult. An adult that was thrown into the whirlwinds of love, abuse, poverty and hardship. And like an everlasting tide, I kept getting pushed back into the sea, instead of coming home to the shore. I don’t know how this page will change, but I know that as I continue to grow, it will, too. Hopefully, so do you. There is a lot I wish to share with you; a lot I wish for you to share with me as you once did. In due time, we shall be acquainted again, with new stories, new love and new yous. So, for now, allow me to re-introduce myself: My name (or pen name, I should say) is Perseph. I am a 22 year old woman who is navigating herself through life’s biggest waves and most gruesome enemies. Won’t you accompany me on this journey? - P . *ALL SHOP LINKS/SOCIAL MEDIA SITES ARE EITHER HIGHLIGHTED AND/OR LISTED BELOW* I honestly have been re-writing this opening for what seems like an hour because there are absolutely no words to describe the situation we’re in. I cannot sum up into words how terrifying it is to worry about the life of your loved ones or the financial security of the people who live paycheck to paycheck and had to recently get the news that they would no longer be working for further notice. I can’t seem to express how absolutely infuriating it was to watch people hoard and resell essentials at higher prices when there are people struggling to even afford the normal price for a roll of toilet paper. However, through these scary, tough, and angry times-- there is good. There is the risen appreciation for our healthcare workers, our grocery store employees, our fast food workers, our mailmen and just every essential worker that needs to be included in the conversation. There is the gratefulness to once have had proper in-school education, to be able to hug the ones we love the most, and to breathe without a mask over our face. There is the longing to be seated in a dining room/moving theatre/concert/etc. with strangers and their joyful laughs. So, when it comes to healthcare professionals/ essential workers, it goes without saying: thank you for all the hard work during this pandemic, for showing up and serving the wants and needs to the general public. Without you, we would be a bunch of headless chickens going crazy being stuck in these four walls all day. But today, I’m here to talk to the underdogs; the ones who even before this pandemic were struggling to make a living on just their business alone and are now having to face the major loss of business because not everyone can afford their luxury anymore-- small businesses. A while before the outbreak happened, I started shopping small. I don’t know how it happened but all I did know was that once I started following one small business, I started following the ones they were following. It was a never ending spiral of beautiful clothes, jewelry, and art. Following these businesses allowed me to realize that all of these creators were hoping to live off their art alone. It was magnificent to see them create such amazing pieces and sell out in just minutes. So I bought some pieces every now and then to support them (and because their pieces were amazing). Then, the lockdown happened. Yes, it was absolutely horrifying to see everyone lose their jobs and businesses to the crisis. So, I hoped that somehow, someway, they would be okay. Then some people’s companies decided to pay them during this hard time, and the option of collecting unemployment became widespread. It was/still is terrifying that it had to come this far. Then, on my way home from work, I saw that the flower man started selling masks, the elotero vendors were no longer on the streets, and the taco trucks no longer had a line. I went on social media, and all the creators I were following were having what seemed to be the toughest time in their businesses. The small shops, vendors, and creators I know and loved, were struggling. So, because I was still working and had money to spare, I started supporting them more than ever. I shopped from jewelry artists such as Moontrip Market to Root to Rise Holistics to Urth Angel Creations. I grabbed some fruit from my local fruit vendor, I ate from my local food trucks and shopped at the dollar store around the corner of my house. I bought art from artists such as Breezy Creations. It was so important to me that these vendors knew that no matter how bad things got, there would always be support from those who were able to. These businesses are constantly being challenged with traffic to their websites/places of work and with consumers that don’t always understand how difficult it is to run your own small business. Yes, sometimes it’s cheaper and faster to shop at mass-produced places (I’m not gonna lie, I love myself some free shipping as well and a five minute drive thru line), but these creators are at a time where not everyone can afford to shop small. Some of them are struggling to make ends meet with their businesses and it’s time that we show our support. So, maybe next time, instead of going to a big fancy supermarket, go to the tiny grocery store around your house. Or next time you feel like stress shopping, go to that small clothing website that you fell in love with. Everyone right now is having it rough. Everyone right now is scared. But I promise you, it will get better. (If you want more to know more small businesses, Small Shop Hype on twitter (@CarpeVinum_) made a thread you should check out.) Mentioned: Root to Rise Holistics (twitter: @RootToRiseHol, ig: @roottoriseholistics) Urth Angel Creations (twitter: @urthangel_) Moontrip Market (twitter: @MoontripMarket) Breezy Creations (twitter: @BreezyCreates) Okay, so I lied. I had to leave again. It wasn’t because I wanted to but because I had to keep up with work, life, and frankly, procrastination. Sometimes I lose the magic I first felt when I started writing and then, when I get it back, it’s a huge block between me and my ideas. It’s not that I stopped loving writing, but sometimes I doubt myself.
But, let’s get straight to the point. I’ve had a lot of people and things influence me into starting this blog; into putting my life out on the internet. But, there’s a specific group of people that made me feel strong enough to actually take action. That group is the reason that I grew up defending what I believed in and started realizing my feelings as valid as the next person. I’ve never dedicated anything to them, but they should realize how much admiration I have for each and every one of them. So, this is for you my beautiful warriors. I won’t mention who they are for sake of privacy, but they are the reason I believe in knights. Recently, I had to say goodbye to someone. To someone I never really knew. There were only stories, only glimpses of them at christmas- only memories of yelling for coffee. I couldn’t say I knew much about them or even knew who they were deep down. But, like I said, I knew the stories. I knew stories that kept my greatest warrior up at night, crying herself to sleep. I knew stories that haunted her every time she had to be polite about her trauma. I knew good stories, too. Ones where his face lit up when he saw his new grandchildren. Ones where he would give half his coffee (the only drink he ever drank) to his youngest daughter. This is hard to write about because there are people who loved him more than anything, but I cannot seem to let go of the knife wounds that kept twisting in my favorite people. Those people-- gosh, they’re strong as fuck. They grew up and raised families with love, care, and affection. They rose from their suffering and while they’re not perfect, they became pretty badass. I grew up around three nurses who always encouraged their kids, a business major (who has and always will be my role model), two people who never took shit at their job, and a single mother who refuses to let anyone stand in her way. I grew up with some toughass survivors who refused to let their trauma define them. But most importantly, they were raised by a woman who would have ruled the world if she wanted to-- the stories I would tell you about her if I could. They made me believe in defeating dragons. I love them to death. And because of this recent loss, they need to know that it’s okay. It is okay to still be angry. It is okay to have wanted an apology. A confession: for days and days I wanted so badly to cry because of loss. I wanted to so fucking badly to feel what they felt, love and honor for someone who was so good to people of his church, his friends, etc. But how could I have felt like my world fell apart, if for years of knowing his stories, I had watched the people closest to me always feel like they had a weight on their shoulders whenever the nursing home called. How could I have felt the loss of a great figure, when he proved he was anything but every time he sent my hero crying to her bedroom because it was like the trauma was knocking at her chamber door. One day after we got the news, I was at work, completely out of it and ready to go home. I kept repeating, “you will not be angry at someone who never even knew your name.” But then I realized, I wasn’t angry because I wasn’t feeling grief. I was angry for the warriors who had to say goodbye without what they craved most in their life: an apology. I was angry for the loss of reasoning from him, I was angry because I wanted to know if he felt sorry for hurting them. Then I stood side by side as they were planning the funeral, and although they hadn’t had closure, they had something better. They had a great bond. Trauma is never necessary and it should have never happened. But instead of distancing, they grew with love and strength for each other. They work hard. They love hard. They fought hard. It’s time to polish up and put away those swords. You can rest, you can stop fighting those battles inside yourselves. You can start healing those wounds. To my warriors who might get mad at this post, I just really want to stop seeing you hurt. I’m sitting here, at a coffee bean, in a local mall, writing what is my first piece back on this website after a very long break. It is currently 11:20 AM, I am sick to my stomach, and I have work in forty minutes so I am writing this as fast as I possibly can. Yes, once again, you do need to know all of this and it is for two very simple reasons:
For, a long time, I was content- not happy, not frustrated, just content- with my writing. To me, it was okay. It was good enough, but it didn’t wow me. As any person who does what they love, I thought I could do better and in all reality, everyone could always improve, especially an amateur as myself. I just never took the time and effort to actually act on that motivation to evolve in my writing. I didn’t because I was happy. I was happy in my life with wonderful people that loved me and days of relaxation that I wish could have lasted forever. But then comes the harsh reality that when you get too comfortable with where your life is, you lose sight of the achievements you set for yourself. You become, in a way, fossilized— fossilized in the life you’ve been living, never having the courage to dig yourself back up again. And eventually, my comfortability turned into laziness. I was unemployed, not going to school, and I had written anything in what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do anything, it was that my luck with jobs wasn’t panning out and I hadn’t pushed myself to do anything else with my time. It was completely all on me, and I take fault for not being more productive. My writer’s block was at an all-time high and the longer it went on, the more I started to question if I really wanted to be a writer anymore. I officially declared myself— lost. I was desperate for someone to see my smoke signal. Then, with a big bang, life hit me like the ‘dunk the person’ water tank at the carnival—- I had to do SOMETHING. I was tired of waking up and feeling like a loser before my adult life had actually begun. So, I applied to the last place I would ever have wanted to apply to. Let’s just say, working for that particular establishment was not the best experience I had. I spent most of my shifts crying in the restroom and dreading every minute I was there. It wasn’t because of the fact that I had to work, but instead was the fact that I was working with a team of people who were miserable from being in a dead-end job for years. All I wanted to do was crush it at my first job and get paid while doing it, but instead I was treated like I needed to know absolutely everything or else I was absolutely useless to them. But despite the excruciating worthlessness I felt from being there, I finally grabbed a shovel and felt like there was a chance at finding myself again. Then, one month after I started, I got a call for an interview. I nailed the interview and before you know it, the company was offering to pay me above minimum wage, with amazing hours. It was everything I had hoped for— a chance to get away from a workplace that was crushing me. Except, after telling me I was hired, I felt something in my gut that was telling me that I was not meant to go in that direction. I took the job, but to make a long story short, I never started. I picked up my very last paycheck from my first job and that was that—- I was back to where I started, except for one thing: I realized I didn’t want to work a 9-5 my entire life. So, i picked myself back up again and got to work. I started writing a couple of pages of outline for my book that I said I was always going to write, I got into digital art more, and I applied to more jobs meanwhile. Fast forward to today: I have an amazing job that makes me feel like I can do anything. It pays amazing, the people are amazing, and it made me come to the realization that I would have to work my ass off twice as hard and twice as much if I wanted o be an idol to one of the most important people in my entire life. For so long, I questioned whether the magic I once felt was still in my bones or if I had lost it forever. But it was there, it was always there. I just had to dig a little deeper. The point of this was that it’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to feel like your path is in a deep dark forest covered in fog and like your lantern just blew out. Someday soon, you’ll find your way, if you’re brave enough to blindly trust your gut through all the creatures that lurk in the night and all the tree stumps you’ll bump into. Just walk slowly, patiently, and realize that maybe all this time, you were okay with being lost until you knew what it felt like to be found. Once upon a time, deep in a land far away, lived a girl whose soul needed healing. So, one Christmas morning, her parents surprised her with the unluckiest lucky warrior they could find. The warrior meowed like a dragon, all day and all night. He never scratched you but he sure loved cuddles. He was asked for a bit too much attention some times, but without hesitation, the girl loved him with every pice of her. He saved her in some odd way and it was absolutely devastating the day she lost him. When I was a kid, I used to see people cry over their pets and think “how could you be so connected with an animal that will never understand what you say.” Then, on the fifteenth of January 2017, I looked into a sweet little knight’s butterscotch eyes and suddenly felt a love so pure that it felt like I needed to protect him with everything I had. It was a special kind of love. I— the most superstitious girl you could ever find— loved unlucky things. My favorite number was 13, I found it hilarious to walk under ladders, and for a long time, I wore a pentagram on my neck. So when I asked what kind of cat I wanted, how could I say anything but a black cat. It tested all the boundaries of superstition and I lived for it. Of course, the little knight that I brought into my home, wasn’t all black. In the sunlight, his secret was uncovered— little patches of iridescent brown fur. He was perfect. When I took him home, a bed was made for his tiny fragile body. It was made up of a blue towel inside a tiny basket. It was a temporary one, until I could go out and get him a proper one. But, even when I did, I will never forget the cutest memory I ever had of him. Keep in mind, we got him a bed that was five times the size of his little body. But, every night, I would wake up and find my little scared warrior curled up on top of me. I was scared to even move because he could have fallen off. Eventually, he became braver. He learned how to climb out of windows and how to meow the right amount to let me know that he needed attention. And when I got home from yet another day of therapy, he was there to comfort me. Two years. I only had two years with him. No one could figure out how he got sick, but he passed away on March 6, 2019. It was devastating and heartbreaking, but we all knew that sometimes warriors fall. He passed away on the very first bed I got for him (that he never used). We buried him in our backyard that day with notes of love. I knew that he would always be there when I needed him. But, there is a funny thing about heartbreaking moments like this. Out of tragedy comes beauty. And let me tell you, it came like a forest. If you know me, you know that I believe in magic and fairytales. I believe in reincarnation and past lives. I believe in miracles. So a month later, I look at the backyard and in the past, the backyard has gotten pretty messy with overgrown grass and weeds everywhere, but this time, it was different. There was flowers and mini trees. There were dandelions and plants the size of the fence. It could just be spring. It could just be a coincidence. It could just be the rain and the sun that made it happen. But I choose to believe that my knight created a kingdom of beauty surrounding him. I choose to believe that he is in those flowers. I choose to believe that sometimes, tragedy creates something marvelous. That sometimes, we think we’re down on our luck, but something is waiting for us on the other side of those bad times. For a long time, there was something missing. Something in my life that felt so empty. But, there once was a knight who filled in that throne— in life and death. Rest now, my warrior. Whenever we make big decisions, underneath our feet is the edge of this cliff that hangs over this sea of bright, fresh water. You look at it and it practically calls you to swim in it, but a few feet ahead of it is an island of rocks. Then, your temptation to take a dive is held back by your fear that if you a jump a little too far, you might plunge head first onto those rocks. So our eyes glance back and forth asking ourselves if we should take a chance on it. We decide to back away, far enough that we’re back in our safety net. Is swimming for the day really worth the risk? Do we take the leap of faith? Do we dive? Or do we walk away? We come across our own cliffs all the time—short cliffs with less of a risk and cliffs that scrape the sky. We come across cliffs that make us turn to family and friends for advice, that make us listen to our gut intuition, and that make us a little bit crazy sometimes. The craziest thing about it is, no matter what, we are constantly told to think with our head and not with our heart bc sometimes our heart, the things we want most in the world, fail us sometimes and it’s better to have a saftey net than to risk it for a dream that may or may not come true. Lately, I’ve had to see people around me re-evaluate what they want in life because they are too scared to risk it all for what they know will make them happy. It’s understandable. Sometimes we overthink and that leads to the inevitable what if’s instead of the what could be’s. But what if, for one second of our limited lives, we ignored the world at hand and focused on the path you wanted to take, despite not knowing what was at the end of it. Isn’t it worth spending our lives working towards that dream of ours, instead of working our ass off for a safety net that doesn’t guarantee us happiness? The craziest thing I heard in school that bothered every nerve in my body was when people around us would say “if you get a C or lower in this class, you will never be successful.” I respect education and I have always admired the teachers/ professors that dedicate their life to it. However, I never agreed with those who implanted the idea that a degree would equal immediate success. There are creative souls out in this world that might have not reached their full potential yet, but they definitely don’t need a degree in business to define them. There are already creative minds, as low as 14, that have made a name for themselves and their work. In this modern day and age, there are really only two things you need to get yourself out there: hard work and social media. I know a lot of people don’t like to hear it, but there are so many platforms that provide recognition to digital creators, aspiring writers, soon-to-be inventors, sketch artists, underrated singers, etc. These platforms reach millions of people all around the world and give a voice to the hard working. For example, digital creators are rising in popularity and as silly as it may have sounded back then, these creators have a chance to make money off of videos they film, edit, and promote. However, it’s not just digital creators. Say you’re an aspiring clothes designer, these platforms could give you the traffic you need to promote your clothes. This is the time to take that leap of faith and do what you love. This is the time to risk it. The time to buy those art supplies and paint a mural, this is the time to drive to a coffee shop in the middle of the night to work on your film. This is the time to ignore social norms and listen to what the waves beneath that cliff are saying. There will never be a better time than now. There’s one life you’re living right now, don’t make it unheard. The most worrisome thing I realize now about growing up is that, I never got hungry. Despite all the visits to swap-meets to find size 00 jeans that didn’t fit as loose as the change in my pocket, or how my bones poked out of me like they were open Swiss army knives and so vividly showed like my skin was silk, I never once thought that my eating habits came very close to a baby bird. It never crossed my mind that I was as thin as a paper plate. But, what did cross my mind (daily— i might add) was how heavier I thought I was; how i wanted to grab the scissors and cut off that little piece of stomach that popped out of my jeans. To hide that extra piece of skin, I later got high-waisted jeans. I never understood why everyone got concerned that I was a 4’11 teen girl that weighed 90-95 pounds. I always thought that a girl with my height and frame normally wore XXS shirts that never fit tight. And one last thing that I would never have understood (until now), is why everyone always told me if I didn’t eat more, I’d get sick.
That is, until, my morning routine of being hunched over the toilet, puking my guts out nothing but saliva because I didn’t eat the night before, became an emergency visit to the hospital. I had a stomach virus that made me weaker than normal and all those days I spent skipping out on two meals a day, causing me to lose ten pounds without even trying, caught up to me. But, even then, my one meal a day became one meal + a snack. Nothing changes. I still felt like passing out in history class and hurled every time I laughed too hard or too much. It was a disaster— feeling weak every second of the day, like I was going to get a bruise from bumping into someone. Before I continue, there’s one thing you need to know: My mom always used to tell me that when you were with someone you truly loved, someone you were happy with, you’d gain a little bit of weight— or in her words, “happy”. Back to the story: I lived feeling like a helpless, sick girl that needed someone behind her just in case she fell. It didn’t help that my depression kept eating away at me, telling me I would never be beautiful enough for someone to truly love me. I was unhappy all the time, barely making it through a day where I felt empty and helpless like I couldn’t breathe from all my breathing. Then, after meeting my boyfriend ad after months of a back and forth relationship (totally my fault), I fell deeply in love with him. He is this kind-hearted, amazing person that never rests until the people he loves are happy. He cared for me, even when I gave him a million reasons not to. So, further into our relationship, when pinky promises became the foundation to our trust, he made me pinky swear that I would never skip a meal, and I haven’t broken that promise since. Then one day, when I got the ibuprofen bottle to relieve some cramps pain, I looked down at it and I came to the revelation that I no longer saw it as an escape from the pain I felt inside my heart for four years. Instead, I felt fireworks in my bones and love throughout me. I was happy. I am happy. Recently, I went to the doctor’s and I was told that I am now a great 110 pounds. I like to say “double digits inside triple digits.” I am “happy.” Ironically enough, on our way home from the doctor’s and as wee were getting something to eat, I made the most surprised face I ever made. My boyfriend asked me what was wrong and I turned to him and laughed. My size 00 jeans ripped from my right leg. I was no longer bone skinny. I had thighs and hips that filled in my dressed. I had a hunger for feed, like I hadn’t ate in years. I am “happy”. And I owe it all to the boy who loved me so much that he made me realize the harm I was doing to myself. Absolutely, without a doubt, love your body because you never have to hate it if you realize it’s amazing. Be “happy”. |