Tidy workplace, bombsite at home: i’m a mess

Aarghs!  Still haven’t finished my assignment.  Got another to get on with as soon as possible.  And i didn’t make it to the Zine Symposium – one of my favourite events in the whole world.  I miss out on so much because… well, i’m a stupid waster: my life’s a mess.

That’s how i feel anyway.  Although i must admit, it’s odd.  I’m always telling myself i’m worthless and no good, even though at the same time i know i don’t really think that way.

Anyway, today’s burning topic is: disorder.  No, not affray, but physical and mental chaos – in relation to each other.  A bit.

It’s surely very telling, something any half-decent psychologist would jump on as blindingly obvious, that while my work, my handwriting and all the outward, professional aspects of me are incredibly clear, small, neat and meticulous… somehow my bedroom, my hair, my clothes and my personal diary are a complete shit tip.

Even someone as (relatively) unscientific and (thoroughly) bonkers as i can tell that the latter is a reflection of my state of mind; of my life in fact.  I am a mess.  I’m under no illusions as to how much of a mess i am.  I’m a disgrace.  Bulimia alone shouts this fact from its lofty throne (‘scuse pun) even if you haven’t seen the chaos within which i exist.

They – by which i mean eating disorder specialists; i’m not going to spout some kind of “them and us” conspiracy theory – reckon a characteristic of eating disorder sufferers is perfectionism.  Let me assure you, this does not apply to me.  I’m a shoddy, slap-dash kind of a gal.  Just look at my hair, my clothes, the way i ‘play’ guitar in my shouty punk band.  I’d LIKE to be more organised, more dedicated, turn out a better standard of… well, everything; but as i’ve already explained, the eating disorder has always got in the way.

Bulimia consumes time as it consumes confectionery and earnings.  It chews up self-esteem and munches away at any hope of a brighter future.  It gulps down opportunity and pukes up any hope i’ve ever had of being any good at anything.  It devours me and so many others like me.

Even whilst anorexic, time was there to be endured, seen off, while i waited for my life to “begin”.  I’ve never wanted to wish my life away, yet i waste my time and my life in the midst of a filthy illness that makes no sense.  I don’t have the answers.  If i did, i wouldn’t be in this mess.

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Published in: on 24/04/2011 at 4:31 pm  Comments (4)