Day 1 of proper holiday stuff and I'm already feeling the stress. I wish I could just be content with general surgery, then life would be a hell of a lot easier. But no. I have to go chasing the unobtainable (again) and stress myself to the max (again) and surround myself with triggers (again). Ah the curse of history repeating itself, but I must like it on some level or I wouldn't keep doing it.
I've just realised that my opening sentence sounds a bit strange. I should say that the reason the holidays stress me out is because I'm working, and I have to contact the professor about a 4 week project that has now dragged out a full year. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it. At least it puts me off my food, every cloud has a silver lining after all.
Now that the summer is on it's way the high pace stage of my weight loss plan kicks into action. I'm thinking that I will diet and will work on skipping lunch and dinner and just having some salad and an egg for breakfast. I'm also thinking of daily 8km runs and yoga and taebo. That should kick some sort of shape into the gelatinous mess that I am right now. I'm 121lbs and I feel like such a big ugly slob.
I have no idea how I tolerated being 143lbs for so long. I must have looked an absolute fright at 143lbs, I must have, because I feel an absolute fright right now and I'm 22lbs lighter than I was then. I hope that by the time I get to 100lbs I don't feel quite so heavy anymore. But you never know. I don't feel any better about myself now than I did when I was 143lbs, on a logical, rational level I know that I should feel some sense of pride for the weight that I've lost but on a much deeper emotional level I feel even more disgusting.
The more weight I lose, the more I want to lose. Maybe it's because with every pound I shed I uncover a small block of potential. As the fat drips off, some sort of light is shining through and it offers me something to hold onto.
But I know now what the light at the end of the tunnel is.
I feel as though I am stuck in a railway tunnel, stumbling across the sleepers, bruising my shins on the rails, grasping at the darkness and finding nothing. The cold, wet solitude of my silent prison stings my skin and the cold, wet solitude of my soul pours down my face as tears that nobody will ever see. But still I crack a smile, it's almost a gruesome sneer, it's satirical broken smile, a sort of Hail Mary to a world that has shunned me and forced me here.
I wish you could see what you have done, are you still proud of yourself?
And in my world of darkness and seemingly infinite horizontal space, I am fit to burst. The air is filled with promises that I can't keep, undeserved faith and words I can never live up to. And the pressure continues, a lonely little girl who just wants a hug, it's not too much to ask for, but it is too much to expect from people who have no hugs left to give. Maybe if I was smaller I would fit in their arms better. Maybe if I was smaller, someone might have the energy to pick me up and tell me that I don't have to walk anymore. Maybe if I was smaller someone would want to feed me the love that I've been deprived of.
But I live in the present, not in a world of ifs and buts. And at present all I know for certain is that there is no one else here and no one wants to hold me. It is so cold. No one to kiss me except the scalpel blades that I hoard. A sharp metallic kiss that is second to none in this world. And for a moment, if I close my eyes and be very still, I can pretend that the warm blood seeping out of my arms and legs and abdomen is the warm embrace of a soul who cared enough to stop and see.
And this is the cruelty of my reality. When I saw J and TS and SPM today, for the first time in a long time, I realised that I've been living in some sort of dream world. It's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder and now it is clear to me that as much as I might yearn for it, they will never think of me as their pet. No matter how much I might care for the professor, he will never be my father. They will never be my family. They do hold some true affection for me, but it runs no deeper than what would be considered normal for one to feel for a student. It was a dream, nothing more.
To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream...For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.
And the realisation of this was quite momentous for me, it really was the death of all hope. I had been holding onto some rose tinted notion that these people might somehow be able to reach down through the earth and find me falling around in my tunnel and pull me up to green pastures and circulating air. But no, I shall be left here to stew and rot in my own sour air and continue on in the darkness, not knowing if I'm walking forwards or backwards or towards anything in particular.
In a way I'm grateful to have this moment. It means that I don't have to waste more time clinging tooth and nail onto false hope. And now, more clearly than ever, I'm starting to see the light at the end of my tunnel. And it is my salvation and it will end my suffering and it will be the end of all things. And one day I know I will be too tired to carry on but then I shall summon all the strength left in every single muscle fibre in my body and run into the light, meet my train head on and I will be bathed in light and sound. Blinded by white, that passenger train will impart its impulse unto my mortal flesh and the energy will course through my body, right to the heart of me and I will fly. Fly through the air and die on the very ground that I've trodden my whole life.
The light at the end of the tunnel is my passenger train and it will make me fly and it will take me away from this world into the next, or into further darkness. And so I can see the end of all things for me. I know that at some point, all this will cease to be worth the effort and when I decide that, I will be consumed with power and with that overwhelming power, I will choose to leave this world.
There is nothing in this world that can save me. Love is not enough.
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