I wish I carried the weather with me. It is something that I am trying to cultivate, to deliberate on. I am tired of feeling my way around dressed in an internal corset. One that is preset and rigid tight, laced and looped through years of being and doing and habitually acting in the same self destructive, unconscious ways. A Victorian construct that deliberates my days for me…if it is fine, I am okay. If it is wet, I am sodden and ineffectual. If it is turbulent, I am unreliable, confused and restless. If the hours are sundrenched, I am radiant and genuine and motivated to do anything.
It is so easy to act on the weather. To operate on the explicit. I mean look at how easy is it to just believe what Bulimia tells me and then (without any thought or concern for a different path, a possible other choice) to act on her feeling. Her feeling, with no regard at all for my sensitivity. Huh? Recovery I believe is about acting on the implicit (what is it that I value? what am I truly passionate about? what holds meaning for me? How can I cultivate a life of living, a life of experience and growth?) And for me that denotes taking off that rib-crushing, waist-thinning piece of senseless internal attire. I want to be and do and act as my inherent self, not as the weather (and certainly NOT as Bulimia) spooks and provokes me to do.
I am tired of unhappy paradigms full of unspoken and untested rules.
Who says I can’t be joyful and valid and encouraged knee deep in a puddle, with my skirt blowing hysterically above my head. For my sanity (and hilarities) sake, I want to be my own weather.
Posted on Sunday, 6 September 2009
