There’s No Prize

I can’t decipher what I look like.

I am also acutely aware that I cannot trust myself to make that judgement, which is a strange phenomenon to grasp. Self reflection conundrum.

I’ve not written much because I’m at a loss for words. I write in the tiny spiral-bound notebook  in my oversized tote bag on a regular basis, but it’s not substantial. In spite of the fact that I’ve filled three of them. Those notebooks are my crazy. Those notebooks are my eating disorder, whether I want to admit it or not. I’m embarrassed to write here because of the things I write there – I don’t want to be superficial, so best not to write at all.

Today is an exceptionally melancholy day and it’s a relief to have therapy in two short hours. I’ve had so much tea to drink that I’m in and out of the bathroom every 15-20 minutes, and thus staring inquisitively at my reflection in the large bathroom mirror every 15-20 minutes. Is that me? Poke. Pinch. I can feel that, but not much else.


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