I remember thinking to myself
Ill be anorexic, it’ll compromise the pain.
Ill exercise and starve this hurt away and do sit-ups until
I can never sit up.
Yet I would moments later find myself in the kitchen binging and
purging on food I couldn’t taste, with tears
replacing the sweat I was hoping to produce and bloating my hate into mouthfuls.
Yet I never wanted to take a drink, even if I needed it.
Because logic doesn’t apply here.
The daily guidelines don’t understand my need for nurture not nutrition.
I knew it was wrong.
I protested constantly against disorders and weight, but still
past events had lead me to these days where my morals and beliefs burnt away like a university of art the day it was set on fire.
I remember thinking it because there was a sense of achievement in the destruction of building a new body,
a better one.
Because these atoms weren’t strong enough for me.
I never wanted to be the crumpled sludge of mud or the paper thin delicacy of a petal.
The colours were to bright.People would want to see.
I wanted to work hard to look like the toned stem holding up beauty that bends towards the sun with hope seeping like nectar that was needed to be made into sweet honey.
I was willing to compromise attention and allure for usefulness because secretly
all I needed, was to be needed.
I remember this because some second hand advise originating from Sara said ‘Sweat holds more value than tears’.
So when I said I wanted to be anorexic, I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to exercise and starve myself into a beautiful death that might make me feel alive.
Because life is a constant contradiction.
Like suicidal life-draining thoughts
I didn’t want to die I just wanted to live and that was so achingly simple.
I lived in the smallest of moments and that made me happy.
A worn down penny on the pavement had more value than a pound.
No, it couldn’t buy me the temporary rush of sugar from a one penny sweet because inflation had doubled,tripled, quadrupled their cost, but yes,
the scratches on it made me wonder how far it had travelled and in whose pockets and purses.
I threw myself into these moments because they were real,
and if everything was taken away from me in least I knew I had them.
It took effort and my mind sweat tears because of the falsities I had to wrestle past to hold onto them
but in least they were worth holding.
Moments like summer rain in Britain.
Where everyone was so used to the forecast of goosebumps, no matter how warm, the sign of clouds meant layers. Jeans. But to me the most profound thing was walking in shorts in the august rain.
Outstretching my arm covered in refreshing beads of precipitation-an innocent mimic of sweat during really good sex -as if to grab the moments hand and elope with it.
It was those quiet days,
where I could spend 3 hours in the shower with my mind completely empty,
lost like my legs were dangling over the edge of the cliffhanger my life had come to that day, that I thought : I should be anorexic.
And it was only when I’d ran out of distractions and
when the tears that had randomly visited so very briefly- like a millionaire at a charity gig- had stopped leaking that I realised
I was starving myself already.
I needed to refresh myself in the summer rain.
Not by sprinting to sweat, but by walking.
I needed to find a penny and recycle it into a donation.
I needed to stop trying to be everything for everyone, regardless of how unkind they were, and maybe grow a few petals of my own and not shy away when the sun pays me a compliment.
Because I was so busy trying to sweat my worth I forgot to hydrate myself.
So no value became of it all, only the sickness of becoming even weaker than before.
So let me tell you now, in this moment- however insignificant it maybe- Be kind, not just to others but to yourself. Be grateful of the fact you’re not part of the 783 million people who cant access drinking water.
Take advantage of the tap that provides you life whenever you want it,
because you need it.