WBB ESSAYS
The Personal is Political
- by wicked.sister
There is so much wrong with this world and so much to do. So MUCH to do.
I'm beginning to think that making the choice to not recover for so many years has been, in a way and among many, many other things, a testament to my apathy.
I said I was a feminist and I said I was a liberal and I said I was an advocate for gay rights and I said I was anti-Bush and I said I was working for awareness about autism-spectrum disorders and I cared about victim's rights and I said I was really trying hard in college and really engaging my work and all I did was waste money I didn't have on pizza I wasn't gonna digest.
If the personal is political -- and it is -- my politics were who cares what happens in the world, I won't be around long enough for it to affect me.
Now that I've not only finally made the choice to recover but have actively begun to walk that path, I find myself overwhelmed. Looking around myself at the world with open eyes and an open mind... with a mind that's free from self-scrutiny and self-hatred and just general selfishness. There are so many things to do. So many things to be and see and read and eat and think about...
A couple of things happen, lately. I'm proud of myself when I go to the gym--I'm not hiding in the corner ashamed of my scrawny "fat" self and I'm not hiding from the guys in the room. I'm marching in and doing my thing because I am getting strong. Wicked. It carries over into the motivations to engage my world. I'm writing to everyone on the penpal list, because, even though sometimes I doubt it, I'm a reasonably intelligent person and can string words into sentences and conversations. I'm having open, meaningful conversations with my actual friends in Real Life. No bull. I watch the news...then want to talk about it. My house is clean, my job is done to the very best of my ability. My bills are starting to be paid on time. I can have leftovers in my fridge without being afraid to open the door and eat everything in sight. I can eat, meals, regardless of what anyone else is doing.
It's amazing how one simple act has brought about such huge things. All I did was eat. I mean, yeah, it was hard. It sucked, it still sucks half the time, it will probably suck for the forseeable future, but whatever. So what.
I'm, like, this...real person now, sometimes. I mean...with opinions and feelings and mushy bits. And an ass and boobs and shinier hair! And I don't so much smell like vomit and my intestines digesting themselves. Now I just smell like soap and perfume and shampoo.
And I just want to jump around and hug the world and smack George Dubya in the face and yell at girls on diets and wear rainbow colors and dance and read and go to museums and have sex with the lights on and watch foreign films and have a burger and a beer and stomp around because I'm finally HERE.
That's what I've been trying to say.
