My days often go by very slow. It takes me a long time to do things. And this makes me feel less valuable in this world. I can’t “keep up.”
I grieve. There is very real loss in this. This world’s value system discards those who can’t keep up, can’t produce, can’t be productive, can’t offer anything useful. There is such a great loss.
But I have decided I am good with letting this go. I am okay with this.
And that there is even great relief in this. Because it is my life and I want to be here for it. Just as it is. In reality. Not as I am told it should be, but as it truly is lived.
With all its wounds and rough patches. With the vacuum cleaner that is falling apart and the notebooks that are scattered around most every surface full of hopes and broken dreams and pages of lists full of things I need to do that often get pushed aside when the mood strikes to throw a kitchen party and the volume is set to maximum and me and my dogs dance and sing as if no one is watching.
My days, with these very slow stretches of time through more hours of darkness than light, and the increasing coldness which brings with it a deep, crushing bone pain.
In these times and days when everything can hurt and when the world is freezing and they demand we give everything, it is useful to just breathe. And go slow. One thing at a time. And another. Then another. Slow enough to feel your own heart beating.
Yes, I am slow. I can’t always keep up and I sometimes don’t get things finished in time. I often feel useless and of no value. This is my reality. And I will continue to be here for it, one breath at a time.
…. Now if only you can teach me how to be happy about myself despite my weight then that would be fantastic!!!
Because let’s face it…… I will never be at the weight that I want to be. I’m morbidly obese with several hundred pounds that need to be lost so unless some amazing miracle takes place then most likely I will end up dying from something caused by my weight because I have gone through simple to extreme measures to try and get this weight off but I always fail to achieve any truly significant results. I’ve struggled my entire life with my weight and I can’t help but think that maybe if I could get to a place where I can appreciate myself and respect myself for the way I am then maybe then I could see a difference in what I see in the mirror.
I admire people who are comfortable in their own skin. Even jealous. Because I don’t know what that feels like.
It’s not every day that I stop and view myself like this. I don’t like to stare at the scars. Especially the big one with the little marks on each side from the staples. If I ever develop skin cancer it would go unnoticed for a while because I don’t like to look at my skin. I shower, dress, undress, have sex … without making direct eye contact with my body. It’s not all due to self image problems, though much of it is. But I don’t like the memories ….
Of life before I became a broken, scarred, torn body. Of my arm – before it was ripped to shreds and torn away from my neck. Of my breast – when it was round, voluptuous, full … intact. When my nipples were parallel with each other. Now I have a partially concave area of skin that is rippled with scars and a nipple that is far from centered. A breast that while it should be a very sensuous part of my female body, is nothing but a dead, mangled, shapeless piece of useless flesh. Serving the purpose of none other then to remind me …
Of the car accident that almost took my life several years ago.
Although it literally tore away several of my body parts, I’ve been known to be stubborn a few times in my life, and this was one of those times because I’m not ready to go yet. It’s going to take more then that to make me leave this world so sorry guys. You’re stuck with me.