24.45
tw: alcohol, body dysmorphia, suicidal ideation
hello, blog!
what do you want to hear about?
i’m at the same bar i wrote about in “tequila soda,” which incidentally is my favorite post i’ve made so far. but the eponymous navel gazing has felt a bit tedious lately. i’m tired of all my thoughts starting with “i.” i’m annoyed with the echo chamber. i want to get out.
it’s going really well though. i ran into someone who might be the first person i ever met in the atlanta music scene, who i hadn’t had a real conversation with in years. the last time i saw him was at a thrift store, 6 months ago, but i didn’t say hi because i was crying, and he didn’t notice me. i spent 5 hours at the thrift store that day, telling myself i was so ugly i didn’t deserve to exist and therefore was obligated to kill myself unless i could find some clothes that would make me passable in polite society. one of the things i bought that day was a floor-length dark blue cotton coverup, which i’m wearing right now.
(no one knows what to call these items of clothing. most people say “kimono,” which is not right. some people say “duster” or “shawl.” what it is to me is a gorgeous flowing safety blanket that covers my arms and elongates my frame and disguises all my shameful bits. you know.)
i told this person about seeing him at the thrift store and not saying hi because i was crying, and the way i said it made everyone laugh. i didn’t say what i was crying for. and then he introduced me to his girlfriend, who had no context for me and said “you’re fucking gorgeous, by the way.” which rescrambled my brain so lovely, lovely, lovely
some people think it’s boring that i talk about this stuff so much. i agree. i would like to talk and think about other things. but i think when people see me analyzing my physical prowess in the context of other people’s assessment, what they see is a vain person obsessed with their own appearance. while i won’t deny that, i feel like what i’m actually keeping track of is my own madness. my own detachment from reality. that i had no say over becoming mentally ill around this one thing, and to keep track of where what i see diverges from the rest of the world, i have to look in the mirror, over and over and over. i have to take down information in this arena so i can slowly eke my way back into something functional. like if i really have been crazy this whole time, that puts things in a whole new perspective. idk. it’s a feminine problem. and that connects me with the women of the world. and i love them so much.
this is basically a diary, except that two people regularly read it and occasionally others might as well. i think that roulette is good for me. or not, idk, who cares.
i ordered a double and a single (you know what of) but i think the single might’ve also been a double so i’m just sitting on the patio talking to YOU until i’m sober enough to drive. with the tip my tab was exactly as much money as i have in my checking account ($24.45). i want food, and need to eat food to take my meds, but i can’t! oh well! because my new job seems to have pseudo-fired me, so i have no money. but that’s a story for another time.
i hate when people assume creative output is always connected to alcohol or drugs, but it is so much easier, isn’t it?
if I am actually beautiful, then I can have anything I want. and that’s so unfair.
here’s another quote from the book I’m reading, The Accidental by Ali Smith:
“Jesus fucking wept, all these endless endless fucking endless selfish fucking histories, she was saying.
Please slow down. Please stop swearing, Eve said.
I ought to punch you in the effing ucking stomach, Amber said. That’d give you a real fucking story to tell.
She took her hands off the wheel and then hit the wheel with the flats of both palms. The car swerved and jolted.
Don’t, Eve said.
The car rattled, swayed far too far over to the right as Amber took the left-hand bend too fast.
Eve began to fear for her life.”
okay after I wrote that a stranger sat down next to me and went out of his way to mention that I’m beautiful and lovely, by the way. angels everywhere, I’m assuming. this might be enough validation for me to never have to worry about it ever again.
okay and some gorgeous fuckboys I know who are probably terrible people just walked in and waved to me. lol.
I LOVE YOU!!
<3 chemsea