a manageable mess

 

i haven’t written in a while.

partly because my computer dies if it’s not plugged in

and partly because i felt like there wasn’t much to write about

i restrict myself to writing when something hurts

so my blog reads like i romanticize every bad thing that’s ever crossed my path.

writing because i forgot to schedule therapy

or because i forgot to take my meds and decide death is the best option

or because im not good at eating

or because i fell in love and it didn’t go well

or that i miss my dad

or that someone passed

which at some point these were all true

and sometimes still feel accurate

but maybe i just have a better perception

or maybe i have learned to accept these things

maybe i have grown in the ways i lied about.

(somewhat)

because now when my room is a mess

or my laundry becomes a geologic timeline

or my calendar insists it’s last month

when my trash is overflowing

and dishes gather in every corner

my mom says i act like im living in a hotel

and my cat makes it clear he’s mad i’ve been gone 

i don’t immediately assume my life is collapsing

i fix things faster.

my small systems keep my laundry manageable

i take the trash out by the third reminder (usually)

it’s imperfect but so am i

things no longer feel like a warning sign

in all honesty when i compare 

5 years ago i was smoking an obscene amount of weed, alone in a house with a dad who couldn’t check if i was still breathing

4 years ago i was 69 pounds and my brain could barely process moving from the bed

3 years ago when all i did was work at a job i hated and pretended the gym wasn’t associated with my eating disorder

2 years ago when i worked 12 hour shifts and my sleep schedule was so messed my mom thought i might die

and a year ago trying to get through school and doing anything for a man who taught my body to flinch at fast hands

so sure maybe there’s dishes in my room

and my bed isn’t made

and maybe i do treat the house like a hotel

but

i am alive

i am surrounded by people who love me so loudly

it drowns out every apology i try to hand them

i have a car that isn’t going to explode any minute

and a job that i adore

i have experiences that changed me

good and bad 

my life doesn’t orbit around

thinness

lovability

or whether i’m “enough” anymore

i imagined dying more often than i imagined growing old

i looked for warmth in cold hands

and lived by expectation

insane how big of a difference it makes to realize this is my life

i don’t have to have someone in my life just because we’re related

i don’t need to prove anything

or explain anything

or apologize for everything

(still working on that)

i don’t need to work myself to death

or starve myself to death

i just need to be

and i would say it’s going well.

i have time

and lots of love

and support

and i don’t feel angry anymore

-o