had a bad day again

have you ever looked at your reflection and burst into tears?

i'm working from home today: no makeup, no masks, just me in raggedy-ass clothes, in all my non-primped-out glory.  earlier i looked at candid photos of myself on Facebook; also, i went to an artist's website, a photographer that takes nude erotic bondage pictures of women where light replaces leather, chains and ropes.  (note: the only reason i went to his site was because he lives in the same art community complex as some dear friends of mine, and they've mentioned him a few times in the past two weekends. i never got around to stopping by his studio, and now i know why: my psyche was probably trying to protect me).

my point is that these factors--and maybe others that i'm not yet aware of--are what contributed to this feeling of disgust with my appearance.

when will this end?  will i always have these moments of terror and horror as i look at myself in the mirror?  will i always feel panic at how much cellulite i've gained or how much muscle definition i've lost in my abs?  why--with all the positive things people say about me and my work--do i still feel so crippled by body dissatisfaction?

to my eyes, my photos show a girl-woman with a protective layer around her, making her heavy and elephantine.  when i was younger, i always thought of my body as a skin that i wanted to shed in order to feel light and free.  when i see these touched-up photos of women who are young and smooth and blemish-free, i know that this depictions are not real, that the men who snap these shots think of women as cars or diamond rings, sparkly and sleek and polished and hinting not one bit at the soft, squishy, dimpled messiness of real human bodies.

hanging out with my friends all this weekend, women who are strong and fragile and REAL, probably lulled me into a false sense of security.  enter Monday and The World As It Is, or The World As We Have Been Taught To See It: yoga ads with pictures of hard-bodied women in pretzel poses, models who are "edgy" with short, spiky hair and black eyeliner who look all of 16 years old, white, upper-class PhDs who talk about healing but who have never been broken themselves, who have never been told, again and again, since the single-digit years, "you are not good enough," "you are ugly," "you are shameful," "you are unsightly."  i want to be back in that safe, warm, easy space where everyone is loved for being alive and being human...where strangers are welcome and friends are like family (the family that you really, really like).  if that space could expand and occupy the entire world, a giant heartspace where we could all just relax and breathe and let our talents and gifts and skills and knowledge shine out...

i suppose i must first create that space inside my own heartspace.  unfortunately, some days it feels like a Sisyphean task: like building and building and building and rebuilding a house on mountains of mud.

feminism ain't about equality, it's about reprieve

amendment 
written by ani difranco

wouldn't it be nice if
we had an amendment
to give civil rights to
women
to once and for all just
really lay it down from
the point of view of
women
i know what you're thinkin'
that's just redundant
chicks got it good now
they can almost be president
but it's worker against worker
time and time again
'cause the rich use certain issues as a tool
and when i say we need the ERA it ain't 'cause i'm a fool
it's 'cause without it, nobody can get away with anything cool

you don't have to go far, like
just over to Canada
to feel a heightened sense of "live-and-let-live"
what is it about Americans, like so many pitbulls
trained to attack and never give
we gotta put down abortion
put it down in the books for good
as central to the civil rights
of women
make diversity legal
make it finally understood
to the civil rights of
women
and if you don't like abortion
don't have an abortion
and teach your children
how they can avoid them
but don't treat all women
like they are your children
compassion has many faces, many names
and if men can kill and be decorated instead of blamed
than a woman called upon to mother can choose to refrain

and contrary to eons
of old-time religion
your body's your only
true dominion
Nature is not here to serve you
or at any cost to preserve you
that's just some preacher man's
old-time opinion
life is sacred
life is also profane
a women's life it must be hers to name
let an amendment
put this brutal game to rest
trust that women will still take you to their breast
trust that women will always do their best
trust that differences make us stronger, not less

in this amendment shall be
"family structures shall be free"
we'll have the right to civil union
it takes unions of all kinds
unions of hearts and minds
to give society communion
let's do more than tolerate
let gay and straight resonate
and emanate all that is human
with equal rights and
equal protection
intolerance finally
ruined
and then there's the kids' rights
they'll naturally be on board
the funnel through which
women's lives are poured
our family is so big
we're all so very small
let a web of relationship
be laid over it all
over the strata of power piled up to the sky
over the illusion of autonomy on which it relies
over any absolute that nature does not supply

and the birthing woman shall regain her place
in a circle of women in a sacred space
turn off the machines
put away the knives
this amendment shall deliver from bondage
midwives

still at war

i wonder if i will ever be able to feel like i deserve to eat.  every bite of food i take is judged, as if it was a reflection of my own personal code of ethics:  is this yogic enough? am i eating it because i enjoy it, or am i eating it to give a big "fuck you" to my inner critic?  is that the best reason to eat something?  will i feel guilty about it in a few hours?  is this going to add to the fleshy curves of my body that i already have mixed feelings about?  is this food rich enough that i'll have to go hiking for 2 hours even though my hamstring is injured and i need rest?

occasionally i still purge.  i can't believe that i used to throw up anywhere up to 6 times every day, sometimes in rapid fire succession.  it amazes me that i never had a heart attack.  i still probably won't know the actual damage i've done to my organs for another two decades.  the pain i sometimes feel to the right of my navel makes me nervous.  then there are, of course, my teeth, which will never be the same...

these days i can sense the point between eating and bingeing, and the point at which i decide i'm going to purge--like running my fingers down the smooth surface of driftwood and finding a nearly imperceptible notch.  at that notch i make my decision.  i usually choose to be gentle with myself and sit with the guilt and anxiety.  every now and then, i'll run straight to the toilet.

the after effects of a purge are similar to the feeling of being drunk or stoned.  an adrenaline rush at the time of vomiting gives way to a numbed out, cotton-wrapped feeling.  my thoughts slow down, my movements slow down.  i get thirsty and dizzy.  it's not a pleasant feeling for me anymore, but i suppose my mind still finds it preferable to the sting of sorrow or rage or loneliness, emotions that felt as though they would kill me when i was younger and--hard to believe--even more sensitive.

then i am pulled way down into a black pit, and the emptiness filling it is called Shame.  no matter how much i try and talk to myself, soothe myself, tell myself i will not beat myself up about my behavior, there is always shame.  the amount of time that it lasts is variable, but it follows close like sound from a jet.

i am in recovery, but not recovered.  i would like to say i am recovered some day.  i know i'll be close when i can stop purging, then stop bingeing/restricting.  in reality, those three behaviors are so closely tied that it's hard to say which i'll be able to stop first.  ideally, they'll all have to go.  the funny thing is that everything is an addiction.  i'm essentially trading one for another, an unhealthy one for a healthy one.  non-attachment is the goal, but that might not happen in this lifetime.  that's why i am so drawn to yoga: yoga teaches me to be separate from the storm though i am in the thick of it.  i am still so reactive: it doesn't help that i am super sensitive and over-analytical.

i told a friend the other day that i believed i wasn't going to be one of the ones that die from their eating disorder.  i do believe this...or do i just want to believe it?  i am strong, but not invincible.  we, as a country, forget about the wars we cannot see, but the battles rage on with our acknowledgement or without it.  in the same way i need to be reminded that i am much more functional than i was when i was 5 years ago, but the scales can be tipped at any time...

i didn't take any photos, but this might be better

there are only a few people out, not enough to be annoying, so i let my armor dissolve.

it is warm enough that i don't need gloves.  in fact, after walking up the steep hill to the trail, i want to strip down to my underwear and soak my skin.  the forest drips with diamonds, raindrops collecting around blossoms and at leaf tips.  the lake is a still mirror for the sky and the trees.  mist--rogue wisps of clouds--dances across hilltops and settles in tiny valleys.

the shades of green are myriad, like lush quilts of textured emerald hues, from the black-green of old oaks to the bright new sprouts at the trail sides--leaves shaped like moths, wings flat and round-tipped.  i want to graze on that green, taste the moisture on my tongue and feel juicy fibers crunch between my molars.  vines of ivy climb down the sides of the ravine to my right, tangling with slender switches and reaching towards the fuzzy moss that blankets nearly everything that sits out of the sunlight's reach on brighter days.

the smell is like coming home: decaying leaves, wet earth, native herbs.

if i can't take off my shirt, i'll roll up my sleeves.  the rain is soft, tiny kisses by the millions.  every nerve ending in my epidermis gets a massage.  a strand of wet hair points to the corner of my mouth and i let it stay.

the rain begins to come down faster, and the thick hush of the forest is interrupted with soft, sweet percussion.

the walnut trees, skinny, multiple trunks growing out of one base, arc up and over the trail, reaching to the water's edge.  i stop there, too, feet in the wet sand and eyes skimming the surface to find the geese i can hear, honking in approval or in disapproval, i can never tell.  veils of rain descend, bringing water and landscape closer to the same colorless color.

there is a flickering in my periphery and i look up to see a falcon slicing across the sky.  i know she is not a vulture, her movements are quicker and her tail long and slender.  the buzzards are out, too, a few of them, their wings lovingly caress the sky when they move, sensuous and slow.  they are enormous birds, so regal, but their ugly, bare heads betray the bad karma bestowed upon them, perhaps from an earlier life.  they seem to accept their fate with grace, and i quickly say a prayer that i might do the same when i begin to get ugly.

i lift my arms up to stretch, arching back in a bend that opens my ribs and reverses the heaviness of my shoulders.  it's amazing how, when i make a conscious effort at awareness, i can feel the electric current running up from the earth into my feet and up my spinal column, dispersing like little lightning bolts through the conduits of my nervous system.  even in this cool rain, i am sparked, hot, outward-reaching.  time is obliterated and there is only here and now, though i'll have to return to a place of clocks eventually. it isn't doing that nourishes the human soul...it is being.