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CALM POOLS AND BONE TIRED
30 April 2016
I went back to the doctors and extended my sick leave further. He 
prescribed meds (which I won’t take), and bed-rest, saying I am ‘chronically fatigued and burnt out’. I have a month. A month of no work.
Since I got sick leave, my days have become like calm pools. With no work or stress or people to cause ripples, I rest on every surface in my flat. The living room floor, the edge of the bathtub, the kitchen counter, the window sill. Bagheera and Gatsby follow me around like little shadows – where I land, they do too.
I feel so bone-tired that moving from the bathroom to the kitchen is considered a journey. I’ll randomly feel faint or fatigued and perch on the nearest edge of something. I feel like a bird with a broken wing.
There are two sides of having sick leave and being by myself day after day. The upside is that I have more peace around me than usual. Nobody is nagging me, no-one is looking at me strangely for being exhausted after brushing my teeth. The downside is that I’m left alone to my thoughts. And my mind is a deep, dark jungle, filled with vicious memories and coarse accusations that tear through me if I come across the wrong one.
Dan’s visit the other day has been on my mind. But, again, like travelling from one room to another, my mind is too tired to make the journey. I’m too drained to call him. I’ll have to do it later.
Song of the day: Mother’s Journey, Yann Tiersen
One day at a time.
Aria |
WHY I LEFT HOME
26 April 2016
I waited. Every time my father hit me, every time I got kicked in the stomach, or was called 
words of hatred, I waited. I waited for the day I’d be too big for him to hit me. I waited for the day when I’d be big enough to hit him back. I stayed large in my mind, in my imagination. I reminded myself I was a giant inside, waiting to burst out. I was never as little as he said I was.
And then that day came. I was big enough. And when that day came, I left. I left my mother, my sister, my house and what I knew. I could not protect them anymore. Not because I lacked the strength, but because that responsibility did not belong to me. I left because I knew the day had come that I’d been waiting for. I left because if I hadn’t, I would have killed him.
This is the pain I can hardly put into words. This is the bravery I could muster. I am proud of my choice, I am broken by my past.
Song of the day: Transfiguration, by Jim Perkins
One day at a time.
Aria |
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR
23 April 2016
I live on the third floor in a flat building in London. It’s fairly quiet there. And the flat’s nice. Newly refurbished. I even had pine wooden floors. My neighbours are mum, and the traffic never rises above a distant hum. I can usually come and go from the building and never see a soul.
That’s why today I was going to step outside my flat door and into the hallway, and didn’t expect to see anyone. I was going to leave my wellingtons just outside my door. In my pyjamas, my hair in a messy bun, I opened the door. And my heart stopped. Hipster Dan was standing there. Right outside my door. Of all the things I expected to see on the other side of my front door, he didn’t even make the ‘less likely’ list.
I stood there speechless, my wellingtons in my hand, my mouth and eyes open in astonishment.
“Hello,” said Dan. He smiled awkwardly. It was the first time I’d seen him awkward. There was a hint of colour in his cheeks.
“He…hello,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were unwell,” he began. “And… you weren’t answering my calls. I thought maybe you’d been eaten by your cat.”
“He prefers fish,” I said.
“Oh, you actually have a cat,” he laughed nervously. “Well, good thing I got here in time, 
then.”
“But how did you know where I lived?” I was still holding the wellingtons.
“Oh. You friend… Brooke I think was her name…. came to the studio looking for you, and she told me.”
I frowned. Why would Brooke tell some random guy where I lived? but I’d have words with her later.
“Well, I’m fine. So no worries,” I said, my tone welcoming him to make his way out.
“I’m glad,” he said, a genuine smile on his face. But he didn’t leave. He just kept standing there.
“Was there anything else?” I tried not to sound rude. I’m not sure I succeeded.
“Oh, well, it was just that I hadn’t seen you since we were meant to have coffee, and I just…” his eyes, till now stapled to the floor, rose to meet mine. “I was wondering if I’d upset you.”
“No,” I said. “Dan, you haven’t upset me. I’m just….I’m just…” Depressed. Unhappy. Unwell. Traumatised. Messed up. Anorexic. Starving. Exhausted. “I’m just not well.”
“Ok,” said Dan, nodding slowly. “I really am sorry for bothering you. I was standing out here wondering whether I should even knock, to be perfectly honest. I just wanted to make sure I’m ok.”
Sometimes when people show a sincere concern and kindness, and you haven’t felt any of that for a long time, a rush of tears can threaten to burst forward. I felt that. The tears began welling up, and try as I might, I couldn’t stop them.
“I better go,” said hurried to say, and began closing the door.
“Wait…” I heard from Dan. His voice was quiet. I paused in closing the door, not blinking in fear of the tears bursting their dams down my face.
“You don’t have to be ok,” said Dan. “That’s what I wanted to say”
I bit my lip.
“I’m not ok,” I whispered hoarsely through the half-closed door.
“I know,” he said. “May I see you again.”
“Maybe,” I replied, and shut the door.
Inside the safety of my flat, alone once more, I let the tears flow freely, the wellingtons still in my hand.
Song of the day: So Close, So Far, by Dustine O’Halloran
One day at a time.
Aria |
I AVOID MIRRORS
18 April 2016
I nearly fainted yesterday. Today I had three cups of tea and an apple. My stomach nearly rejected the food, but I managed to keep it down. I avoid looking in the mirror. It’s like I 
fear I’ll be so disgusted at what I see – that I’ll be so unearthly hideous – that I won’t be able to handle it. I actually covered over the mirror in the bathroom and the hallway.
I sleep on and off, lying curled up on my mattress on the living room floor. Bagheera purrs at my feet, and Gatsby hops around or lies sprawled on the carpet. I’m glad I got sick leave from the GP, because I wouldn’t have been able to function at work.
I listen to mellow piano music. I watch Studio Ghibli movies. I take baths to heat up my frozen body. Abby has called, so has Brooke, and Hipster Dan. But I push interaction ahead of me. Another day, another day, I say. I’ll deal with them another day.
Song of the day: Wilderness, by Explosions in the Sky
One day at a time.
Aria|
NOT EATING AND TRYING TO BREATH
16 April 2016
I went to the GP and got an extension on my sick leave. I simply can’t do people right now. I haven’t eaten in four days. I am weak and shaky. My phone is switched off all the time 
now. The nightmares are back, lighting a fire under my insomnia. I have flashbacks more often. The PTSD symptoms are bad. I have been cutting – a brief relief from the mental anguish haunting my every move.
I’m just trying to focus on getting through the day. I can’t perform. I can’t be good or pretty or perfect or normal. I can’t be well. The grieving in my chest is weighing me down so heavily it’s hard to breathe. So that’s all I am allowing myself to work at – breathing. Just keep breathing. Some storms you can’t solve or bottle – you can only ride them out.
Song of the day: The Clear, Empty Light, by Levi Patel
One day at a time.
Aria |
HATE BEING ALONE, CAN’T HAVE RELATIONSHIPS
13 April 2016
My Anorexia has been bad. Really bad lately.
It all started going down hill since that Wednesday I was meant to meet Hipster Dan at the cafe. I think going to meet him made me confront something in myself. It made me 
confront questions like: “Am I able to be vulnerably with someone?” “Would I be acceptable to someone now, even with my eating disorder, my PTSD, my messed up trust issues?” It made me want something I think I am not capable of having now.
I can’t be in a relationship. The hurt is too great, barring the door so no-one can enter. I feel like a book – brimming with stories, tragic stories – but seal shut by tears and glue and blood. So that no-one can read me, and I can’t be known.
I hate this is how I am. I hate being so low, being so alone. And yet, trying to stay alive is a full-time occupation. How can I fit someone else into my life? How can I manage to be involved with someone romantically – to offer myself to another person – when I am just trying to keep my head above water?
Song of the day: Skin & Bone, by Stu Larsen
One day at a time.
Aria |
THE SOUND OF CRYING
10 April 2016
There are times we cry when we weep so bitterly that our own sobs breaks our heart. The very sound is wrenching, just because we know what it means. If a heart could break, that would be the sound it would made as it did.
Song of the day: Through the Dark, Alexi Murdoch
One day at a time.
Aria |
STRANGE HABITS OF AN ARTIST
8 April 2016
There is a strange habit among artists, no matter what branch of art they may work in. Whether it is painters or authors, poets or musicians. The habit is that frequently their work-flow is erratic. Sometimes there is barely a drop to be seen, and other times the flood comes so strong and suddenly that they neglect food and sleep for days in an effort 
to keep up.
The Artist’s confidence is a fickle thing. You needn’t be an over-sensitive soul to fall prey to writer’s block or creative constipation. It simply happens. There are times of drought and times of flood.
I have been having a drought. I have no ideas, no spark in me. My boss has given me the week off, after a request from the GP. He recommended I rest for a while, since my body and mind shows signs of exhaustion, stress, and overexertion. I wouldn’t usually listen to the doctor’s warnings, but right now I don’t mind staying home by myself. In fact, I need it. I need to be alone, in peace.
So it’s just me, Bagheera (my cat), Gatsby (my bunny) and me in the flat all day long. Us, and my creativity drought.
Song of the day: Winter, by Matt Corby
One day at a time.
Aria |
FEARING HAPPINESS
5 April 2016
I’m afraid of being happy. I am afraid when there’s a time of peace, when there’s lull in the pain. And this, in turn, makes me afraid that I have lost my ability to truly be happy.
I feel like something is going to bring me down. And the more I allow myself to be lifted up by joy, the harder I will hit the ground when I am brought down. Thus, I avoid happiness 
(or what is labelled as ‘happiness’, anyway.) And even when I feel happy or joyful, a shadow is quickly cast over that moment.
It could be 3pm, and I’m in the middle of laughing with my friends, and suddenly the sadness comes. Sometimes creeping, sometimes a tidal wave. How is it possible for me to go from ecstatic joy to deep despair in only a few hours. Or moments. How can one day hold so much faith and so much doubt; certainty and apathy?
Sometimes, even though the pain of the past is not present, the residual layer of sadness it left behind is. I’m not recreating the problem out of some twisted sense of nostalgia. I am still bleeding from an old wound.
Song of the day: Into Your Deep, by Hans Kraenzlin
One day at a time.
Aria |
FEELING LIKE A CORPSE
3 April 2016
Why can’t I shake the darkness over me? It’s so heavy I feel I can’t think clearly; like I can’t move and I just freeze in a physical and mental place. I’m afraid. But afraid of what? I feel ready to be attacked, but by who and what? I’m dying to jam my fingers down my throat, or cut myself. Anything to stop the thoughts, to stop the pain. I just need to feel 
something else than this.
I am everything I hate.
I feel a thick heaviness over me today. I feel disgusted with every inch of my body, to the point where my skin physically hurts. I feel large and heavy and cumbersome. I feel so big I almost feel convinced I can’t press through a normal doorway.
It makes me not want to go outside. It makes me want to shut the blinds and hide in the dark. I want to hide until I’m fixed- until I shrink into something I’m proud of, or at least until I look the way that I feel. Because I may feel large on the outside, but inside I feel small. I feel tired, old, hollowed out, exhausted, drawn, and bone-skinny. I feel like a corpse. I wish I could look like one.
Song of the day: Hægt, kemur ljósið, by Olafur Arnalds
One day at a time.
Aria |
STAYING HOME
1 April 2016
It’s Friday, and two days since I walked away from the cafe and Hipster Dan. I haven’t seen 
him since then.
I’m trying to muster up the strength to walk out the door. I’ve showered and dressed already. I’m late for work. Only one more day of social interaction before the weekend. All I needed to do was gather up my things and go. I stood in front of the door, staring at the handle, willing myself to open it and leave for work. But I couldn’t move. It’s one of those days. I just can’t do it.
So I told myself I could do anything I liked today. I don’t even have to go to work. I have to do that sometimes when I feel overwhelmed. If I start to get all: “I must conquer the world today” (like I often get), then I’ll choke on the impossible tasks I set for myself, and I won’t be able to do a thing.
I called my boss at the art studio and let her know I’m not well. She said that wasn’t a problem and to stay at home as long as I like. She’s always been really understanding, and she knows I don’t skive or go on a bender. But since I was in hospital she’s been especially understanding.
I am staying home today. As soon as I got off the phone with my boss, I sunk to my knees in the middle of the living room.
Song of the day: This Woman’s Work, by Greg Laswell
One day at a time.
Aria |
ARIA FOR ARIA 