Romanticising The Ruins

Recently, there have been a lot of new events and experiences occurring in my life, bringing about their own set of emotions. I have found myself forced to push such emotions to the back burner as these changes have taken priority. In being unable to listen to certain parts of myself, I've felt quite out of touch with who I am; my desires and my aspirations. For all those hard moments of adulthood, I want to attempt to reframe turmoil by romanticising change, allowing for magic instead of fear.

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My second day off from work in a week of unexpected overtime meant a version of myself that was exhausted, tired and lonely. The feelings arising from not being around my loved ones after a week of constant customer service were ones reminiscent of a morning hello. My brain function was at 0% ready to be filled by 100% of shitty TV, naps and blogging. The first thing I did for the day was put my dirty dishes from the night before into my sink to soak with not just one dishwasher down but two in my home. There aren't many chores that I truly loathe but washing dishes is one of them. By barely noon I was on my second coffee and as I went to go make it, to my delight, I noticed an empty sink. All my dishes had been handwashed by my flatmate, no noise, no fuss, no expectation, just done without a word. Mind you, my flatmate has been sick off work for nearly 3 weeks, has a two-year-old child and with her husband at work for the day, nobody to help her. When I responded to the act with a message of immense gratitude, she simply responded 'Too easy. No worries my sister.' I have to rely on myself a lot nowadays, so allowing myself for just a moment to be unexpectedly reliant on someone else, heavily, positively, and completely, made my day, week, month, and year.

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I just wanted someone there as the silence grew too loud and the loneliness grew too painful. It stung me for everywhere I turned there was nobody to be found. I began to reminisce over the sounds that filled the homes I knew - ones of laughter, music, and conversation. It seemed as though it was long ago that I'd heard the pitter-patter of familiar footsteps, even though it hadn't been, even though it had only been a few hours since my home had known such noise, my roommates having only just chosen to venture out into the world. But it was without them that I couldn't sleep. I couldn't amidst the violent quiet, the one that fought against me with every moment I noticed the absence of baby cries and voices. It was then that I felt the blue ocean swishing in my gut, the one that swished and swooshed without my family in the room next door or without my dog barking at a tree branch just in case I wasn't safe. I had no family. I had no dog. I had my thoughts, my gaping loneliness and a case of sleeplessness. And then I heard the lock unchain. Suddenly, the TV was on playing the kiddy tunes that sang the alphabet to my roommate's 18-month-year-old, the smell of takeaway hot potato chips and cinnamon doughnuts wafted beneath my door, and an in-love married couple were talking amongst themselves. And then, I could sleep. Only, then. Just four months ago, we were total strangers. And now they were to me, my lullaby.

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Supporting myself financially, emotionally and physically whilst simultaneously living with a chronic illness to the severe extent of mine is as to be presumed: challenging, exhausting and overwhelming. It's difficult for me to retain information, it's difficult for me to have the strength to get myself to and from work and it's difficult to keep everything under control when parts of me are constantly unravelling. But every day I have the choice to let my mental illness define me and my self-worth. Despite the immense effort required, I can search for evidence beyond my eating disorder that will support the fulfilling life I yearn to live. In overcoming the voices of anorexia by infiltrating the voices that complement my abilities beyond it, I lead a life of capacity, reason and uncomplicated joy. When I choose to nourish my body and mind, I can do well at work. Instead of being congratulated by the likes of my eating disorder, I allow myself to become congratulated by my colleagues, my customers and my boss. However, when I allow myself to prioritise the congratulations of my eating disorder, professionally, I fall behind, inhibiting feelings of incompetence, inability and idiocy; feelings I only loathe and fear for they go beyond a moment and affect my ability to live in this beautiful world I have created for myself. So, I'm doing my best to say fuck off to a few kilos and fuck yes to prosperity and abundance a little more often, with a little more endeavouredness.

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Romanticising the ruins hasn't been as challenging as I thought. In fact, it's been freeing to see everything messy laid before me with no quick fix, yet still, somehow, managing to fix it. Maybe I have got my shit together a little more than I thought and so it is with my whole heart, that I know you have your shit together a little more than you thought, too, Dolls. Kisses,

COS x