I’m already feeling Pisces season too much, and I’m not one to say that. Everything feels too slow and too fast. I’m up and down emotionally. Secure one moment, totally demented and backwards the next. For a while here I was coasting, but as I look forward to spring slowly creeping around the corner, I’m feeling a new anxiety about what’s there/not there for me. All week my internal voice keeps (very) dramatically saying, I’m gonna throw up. (I’m not, but there’s a hollow worry in my stomach).
I suffered a minor mosh pit wrist injury, so yoga is already on pause again. Focusing on squats, lunges, and walks now. I will hit my goal weight this year. I’m hoping if I fix the entire outside of me again, my inside will be fixed too.
Somewhere in my mid-20’s I looked good outside, but the inside was beyond fucky. So, now I have the inside doing excellent and I’m ready to balance them both. I saw a picture of myself from four years ago. In addition to hormonal acne, I saw redness from alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, carbs, and food delivery. It was a low point of my life. I felt ashamed, for the first time ever actually, but not depressed about it. I see how much I normalized the madness of my own behaviors and the environments I was in. It was healing to reconcile that. I feel lucky to see that I’m not her anymore. And lucky for how painless it was to stop being her.
There are still monsters in me, though, and I want them out. Predominantly, jealousy monsters, monsters that give energy too freely to men for nothing in return, and body image insecurity monsters (obviously tied to male approval). How many more daily minutes of meditation do I need to do to rid myself of these feelings??
Last year-ish, I told a non-white guy friend about someone I was seeing and his first question was, “Is he white?” (he was). It struck me because of the levels of male approval involved in this one short question. From his side, and from his assumed perspective of the white guy. Like, what the white guy could possibly see in me. Meanwhile, a girl friend suggested dating apps to me for the hookup appeal, and I shut her down saying, They’re too racist for me; I’d rather be single forever. It’s true.
During the years I wasn’t taking care of myself, I wasn’t having much sex, but it turns out my brain was: “Music and dance may be the only things that come close to sexual interaction in their power to entrain neural rhythms and produce sensory absorption and trance. That is, the reasons we enjoy sexual experiences may overlap heavily with the reasons we enjoy musical experience. […] Study author Adam Safron compares the effect of female orgasms on the brain to that induced by dancing or listening to music.” (MNT)
We all thought I was just a music addict this whole time. I guess I’m a pleasure addict.