Watching the Movie

Topic : Daily Glimpses

I wake up feeling fluffy and sticky.
I’ve been staying up late and my son wakes me early, not a great combination.

We go walk the dog.
I love the movement, the shade cooling us but when the sunbeams hit us it feels like a spotlight.
We’re sweaty and thrilled for air conditioner after 30 minutes.

I feel like I should enjoy the outdoors more.
Deeply connected women I admire love the outdoors
I love it only in certain conditions.
65 with a light breeze.

This happens often, the wishing I enjoyed things that other people do, the moving through life with ease.

The most disconnection come up on the holidays.
I look around and it seems as though everyone but me is having fun.
Laughing and smiling
like I’m watching a movie yet I’m supposed to be in the scene.

The odd man out.
Comparing my inner landscape to others’ outer motions and it feels disconnected.

I am also reminded that I’m not part of a nuclear family, there’s not as many of us as there should be.
A gap in the family pictures, a disruption of Norman Rockwell life.

I begin to fixate on my body,
I feel like a Cabbage Patch Kid next to Barbies, round and squatty.

This is how I know I’m clinging,
trying to control whatever I can.

If I look thin and pulled together, no one will know I’m watching the movie,
an odd addition to an idyllic life.  

The body type I have does not allow me the freedom of appearing delicate and unassuming.

Even if I stopped eating I would never reach the level of thin others achieve.
The effort it takes, I was never able to have the self control, another inability to keep up the facade.

My children give me focus and an out: needing to nurse in the other room or to help my daughter with her coloring.
I love the memories being made with them
I also like the escape hatch they provide.

The edge of discomfort is lurking underneath every conversation.

What will be said?
What is the meaning behind it?
What can I say that would make sense in this conversation? 

I try to not speak, it’s easier than being awkward.

 I wish I could smoke or drink or vomit.

All these habits I used to do that I committed to not doing anymore.
Anything to release the feelings,
to break the uncomfortable momentum of my racing mind.

These days I meditate, do yoga, pray, journal, all the things that are supposed to help.
Yet the moment I get off my mat, the composure I gathered seems to fall apart.

Sitting with the itch and not wanting to,
Is not a place that’s easy yet.  


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