Her eyes were heavy, just like her emotions that she had been pushing underneath the carpet for the last week or so. As the deprivation became more prominent, more pronounced- it became harder to fight the very things to which she had been denying. Her eyes fluttered a little, and her
phone went off. He asked her how she was, but she told him she was fine,
and put a smiley emoji. It was simple to fabricate things through
messenger. It is so simple for all of us to wear masks, but it is so damn tiring. It catches up to you.
To say that life has rainbows and butterfly's would be a boldfaced lie, so perhaps it would be in my best interest to stop walking around acting as if it were. I am all for the fake it until you make it act. Or even the putting on your big girls pants attitude, and leaving your shit at the door so you can get through the day, and do things for the better of the group. However, at the same time there comes a point where you have to question how much is too much? At what point are you sacrificing a piece of yourself to pretend you are something you are not? When are you beginning to forgot you matter in order to appease others because it is only a matter of time before you will fall apart.
You matter. Your emotions are real, and valid. No matter how shitty they feel, or how much they are "disturbing" someone else's day and "inconveniencing" them, they exist, and are valid and important, and deserve to be felt. Guess what? If they are that big of a "problem," then I guess that person is a bit too much of a "problem" to have around. We are humans. Real, authentic, lovable people. We are not made to be fabricated sewn on fake smiles at all times- or smiles that are in reality cracked seams from shattered glass, and wind up toys that are on the verge of breaking permanently. No. We are perfectly flawed. Our tears are artwork. A collage on a peaceful Autumn day. Necessary to water the earth, and keep ourselves from drying up into nothing. Let it happen.
I had to go grocery shopping. I came home Sunday night knowing there would be no food in the house for me to eat. *Disclaimer: I had asked mom to hold off on the shopping- and shout out to her for going with me to learn about my meal planning* This task, so simple to most, which I've always enjoyed doing had become a cruel game to this heavy loaded mind. A task such as entering a store for three items, left me dissecting labels in the store for hours, often leaving with a different cart than intended, for I wanted the "best" option for my body, all the while I was slowly killing myself. The aisles seemed to rise over me, and close in, while the food choices seemed endless yet so little to choose from. It was the equivalent to feeling like a lab rat in an experiment, or one of those shelter animals that everyone stares at, but feels sorry for. I began hating grocery shopping for it felt as though every person was judging my cart...
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