Dia 228

I'd never had  any serious issues concerning my body - maybe because I had always been the skinniest and the softest, and that was it. It means that no matter how much weight I put on, it was always OK. You need it, you look so much better now, that's what I always heard. I used to think that soft was good, that with my clothes on I looked just fine. I don't care what people think, really, it's always been about me - I'm simply too selfish to absorb any opinions about me but my own. Having said that, it would be easy to assume that I developed a great taste for everything that would cover me up, head to toes. My clothes hid what I didn't want to see, carved beautiful and mysterious forms out of my own shape. I must say: it looked tasty. It looked healthy. It looked... happy. Happy I was, until two years ago, when I lost nearly seven kilos. I should've been on cloud 9: being invited to star on the catwalk at the age of 30, having no trouble to zip up those jeans which no longer fit me. 1.71; 53 kilos - I looked slim, elegant... and never felt so discouraged, so lonely. One day I realised why I was losing weight: I was so sad I didn't remember to eat. How desperate does it sound? Now, two years and some kilos later, the situation is no better: mirrors are no longer friendly; I am not that easy-going anymore. My hair changes colours and I ask myself What have I done? It doesn't matter what happened or who did it, I soon reply: we'd better clean up the mess and learn how to shut up about it.

We're battleships

drifting in our wee river

taking hits

sinking it's now or never

overboard

drowning in a sea

of love and hate

but it's too late

battleship down...

 *Thank God there is this one place where I can be extremely selfish, angry, depressed and lunatic, bits of everything - invisible therapy is the best way to understand yourself (and it's free ;).