empty

Well, my my. It's been quite some time since I've bared it all on this little blog, now hasn't it? I'm feeling confessional. I'm feeling surprisingly not vulnerable. I am not brave, but in some foreign land between vulnerability and bravery. So what now? Do I "confess" this and that? Do I complain? Vent? Keep asking questions? Uh, apparently the last one. Right? See what I did there? Anyway.

Anyway.

I eat. I eat sporadically and privately. I nibble. I have rituals and routines and odd compulsions. I feel terrible pangs of guilt after every "meal." Often I feel terrible stomach pangs in the form of "Oh shit I just stuffed myself." Ten times out of ten I wish I felt hunger pangs instead. And so I go after that desired empty feeling. I run off and away from the fullness. What I'm left with after three plus hours is definitely emptiness paired with aching, tremendously aching, joints and muscles.

Sometimes I fantasize about the scene I will cause in the future when my most important muscle gives out after lap eleven. What then? Who will be called?

And there's more empty space around me. I've lost mass, I've lost friends. I found my "sick" jeans the other day, the only jeans that didn't sag on me back when I was the skinniest (and sickest) I've ever been. I found them purposely "hidden" in a box in the basement. They fit once again. I was pleased, even pretty damn excited.

This is pretty damn scary.

But I still don't completely believe it. I might know it, but I don't believe it.

Shall I get super confessional/personal? I haven't had my period in almost six months.

I feel like an alien in my own body. I am very disconnected, I am lost.

I am dramatic! I am tired. I am ready to sink my body/empty shell into bed.

I am embarrassed. I am fine.

you learn

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.


— Jorge Luis Borges, “You Learn”, trans. Veronica A. Shoffstall