Danger To Myself

It’s a process.

It’s a process.

A process. 

Yesterday I said to you, I love you. I’m so sorry. Today I ate through the sickly sweet apple crumble. The first bite was a dream. Warm from the even-tempered oven. The second bite was unsure. By the third bite, I had decided this baker was on a mission to kill.

Poison by sugar.

But I kept going. I kept eating it.

Fourth bite. Fifth... at some point my body started kicking like someone struggling under strangulation. My head protested with the sharpest headache it could muster -

Stop!

This. Is. Bad.

We. Do. Not. Like. This.

My tongue tried to help too- the sickly sweet became a chemical taste, as though I was eating the product of a sinister lab experiment.

I ignored its alarms and I carried on.

Why?

Maybe love is a lesson I am struggling to learn. 

I love these pictures. They make me feel like an artist. I can take something I am struggling not to destroy and make it look like art. 

Artist: David Akinola

I sit like that because I feel vulnerable and perhaps if I just curl up a bit tighter, I can protect myself from myself. 

Life is a series of choices. Moment by moment I have to choose. No choice is a choice in itself. Probably not the best one at that. 

The problem is that I forget. I forget to make the decisions that best suit me. I forget to release the fear. So it chokes me and chokes me. And I forget the safe word. So it goes on, not noticing or caring that it is crushing me under the weight of its pleasure of seeing me cower from being myself. 

It’s not about my body. My body is a manifestation of years and years of fear and hate and a complete lack of control and sense of real responsibility. 

How do I gain that control? I am not too sure. Maybe if I think about this particular moment in time and ask myself, in this moment, what is best for me? And maybe if I let myself answer this without feeling rushed to make the ‘right’ decision, I can slowly master myself. 

So that I can say no. 

And omfg YES! 

And I will think about it 

And I don’t need this

And I don’t want this. 

And all the things my soul is crying for me to express. 

How do I develop a good memory ?

So that I remember - it’s not about how she looks, it is about how she feels. 

How are you making her feel ? 

Today she feels vulnerable

She feels tired 

And she doesn’t know if she can do it. 

-O.F.P.