Alyson

I hate complaining. I hate being sad. I hate hating. What I hate most of all is that the cause of this is so small in the scheme of my miraculous and fortunate life. I want to tell you all about how art is going well, how much I’m learning, about my friends who are endlessly swaddling me in a metaphorical blanket of love, loyalty, and many other things. I want to tell you that I often stop after my runs and pray “thank you” to God for giving me two legs to run with.

But see, all of those things become air when the tsunami starts up. Soon, they don’t exist. Do they exist? I forget. All I can believe is real is what’s in front of me, about to demolish me with the groundbreaking slap of one watery arm. Buckle up. But with what? We are so deflated from the last one, what is there?

There is a mirror. I hope it likes me today, because I don’t know what I will do if it doesn’t. How easy our relationship would be if I was just skinny. Undisputably skinny. “So, you mean skinny as in when-you-were-having-problems skinny?” Perhaps. But I know that that didn’t resolve our problems. It still hated me. It became jealous that I was getting smaller, and punished me accordingly. How can I trust what it says now?

I end the night feeling OK. But that is the first time today that I felt anything above yuck about my thighs, about our relationship today. I’m still mad. Why couldn’t you have pulled yourself together earlier? How do I know that what it shows me in the heat of the hate isn’t true? It tries to make up with me, like now, showing me what I think could be real. But was before simply a misunderstanding? Or was that the one moment of clarity?

I want to break up. ♦