groovingwithshae

[groovingwithshae]

Explaining body dysmorphic disorder to others is always so incredibly challenging. It is an incredibly lonely mental illness with symptoms often misunderstood.

When I explain to people I don’t like how I look - that it cripples me - they often think that I’m merely self conscious, maybe of my weight.

How do I explain that I don’t like how I look because I do not know how I look?

Each and every day, sometimes each minute - the person staring back at me in the mirror is completely different.

It is a terrifying experience that is even more scary to navigate.

How do I dress this new entity?

Is her body one that is allowed to take up space today?

My camera roll is a mosaic of pictures of me - the day I take them I see a beast, but the next day I may be happy enough to post it publicly, even though twelve hours ago the shame it caused made me cry myself to sleep.

Body dysmorphia is not an illness of hatred for oneself.

It is not fishing for assurance that you’re pretty.

It is confusing.

It is fear.

It is exhausting.

I have missed out on so much due to my reflection, and yet I am completely and utterly obsessed with it to the point it is vain.

A reflective surface and “in passing” do not go together in a sentence ever in my life.

Even if I am running late - I must analyse my appearance anywhere I can view it.

Picasso’s abstract paintings make me queasy - I see myself in them.

Disfigured.

Disformed.

Disproportionate.

Every person I meet is a comparison before they are an individual -

And even after they become one, I will fight tooth and nail with every voice in my brain to quiet the comparing for the sake of respect for them.

It is so many voices, and nobody to confide to about them.

It all just seems like you’re attention-seeking,

That you’re self-obsessed.

And god, I am self-obsessed.

And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop.

It’s compulsive.

I wonder if this is ultimate loneliness?

[groovingwithshae]

I have spent my entire life creating distance between myself and those I love.

Maybe it’s from watching my parents.

People would joke about being bitten by the love bug, but to me, it was nothing more than a pest.

I always felt that I was too good for it, but beyond that, I truly believed it did not exist.

To me, people were so desperate for connection, to not die alone, that they threw themselves at others with the same fear, and they would spend the rest of their relationship mistaking that fear for passion.

It would eventually fail.

They all did.

I’d seen it.

And by then they would have kids, a dog, a home, finances - all that would be impacted because they wanted to believe in the false god that was love. It was selfish.

My dad now lives alone in a house too big for him.

I visit him.

I help him carry in the groceries.

His body is too frail to do it on his own.

And we walk our dogs together.

Their tails wag in unison, and our steps synchronize.

When I get in the car, he hugs me goodbye and squeezes me tighter than the time before last.

And as I pull out of the driveway, he tells me to drive safe.

At the first red lights, I ensure my tin of lollies in my cup holder is full, just in case one of my future passengers wants one.

And I let the car waiting for a gap in the traffic claim the spot in front of me as I sing to a song my friend showed me in year 9, and I crush under the weight of nostalgia over a person I haven’t spoken to in years. I wonder how she’s doing. I hope she got sober.

I walk in the door, and Mum asks what I want from McDonald’s for dinner.

And I order what my friend suggested all those years ago when I first went vegetarian so she knew I wouldn’t miss out.

And my Mum comes home with a sundae I didn’t ask for.

And I realize no matter how much distance I create,

Ants need sweetness to survive.

[groovingwithshae]

I have never felt the need for a boyfriend in my life.

The women in my life create so much warmth - I have never felt scarce of it.

But beyond that, women understand the complexity, the beauty, the suffering, the joy, the tragedy - of girlhood.

Men do not know of the hair tie on your wrist that you never purchased - waiting patiently for its next wrist like a legacy.

Men do not know of the communal mirror,

Of the keys between knuckles,

Of not wanting to be attractive, but just wanting to be pretty,

The “Your hair is stunning! Can you do mine?”

The fear in a mothers eyes when looking into their daughters,

The flavoured lip smackers and pink glitters,

The ache.

When the world is crashing around me,

I do not want a man to hold me,

I want my sisters.

[groovingwithshae]

The sensitive kid

They said it like it was an insult

So I clawed at every feeling I had the audacity to feel and scratched it raw

“You’re angry all of the time…”

I don’t know the difference between anything else.

[groovingwithshae]

I have lived my life constantly apologising.

But I will never apologise for caring.

Don’t hold it against me as if I should be embarrassed.

How dare I know your favourite songs and where the scar on your elbow comes from,

I remember.

I care.

I’m not afraid of being soft.

Don’t try make a mockery of me,

You’re making a fool of yourself,

mocking the one real thing you’ll ever know.

[groovingwithshae]

I’ll never be eye candy,

But for the love of God,

If you gave me the chance

I could feed an army of starving men,

I’ll never be eye candy,

But for the love of God,

I could be your soul food.

[groovingwithshae]

For Nathan

The human experience is art. We become a mosaic of every person we have ever met. Existing gives other people's existence purpose; we mold each other like clay.

Death - naturally - is tragic. But I often think part of the tragedy is that when someone passes, everyone that person has ever interacted with will also lose a part of themselves.

In 2021, my childhood best friend passed away. We hadn't spoken to each other since we were kids, and I felt guilty for grieving - like I was somehow milking his death.

But I have realised the grief is really love for him that has never left, and that he shaped me into the person I am today.

I have always been a little girl who has grown up too fast. I always had to be responsible, mature, and wise. When I was with Nathan, I was a kid - what I was meant to be.

We would play on the trampoline for hours, get muddy at the local footy, he taught me about Assassin's Creed, and we took goofy pictures together on our DS's.

He was protective of me, and when other boys teased him for having a girl best friend, he had no qualms about yelling at them and saying how proud he was to call me his best friend. His love for others was relentless, and as we grew apart - I am confident that trait did not change.

Part of the mosaic that is my identity is Nathan. At the local footy, he would drink so much Fanta his mouth would turn orange, and the sugar would make him unstoppable - becoming the king of tiggy and climbing trees quicker than a monkey.

Every time I smell oranges, like a reflex, my brain conjures an orange toothy smile.

Even in death, he has made me discover so much about the world.

I use the word "freakazoid" because my friend Caty said it once, and once she did, I couldn't stop saying it.

Whenever I see or hear SpongeBob - I think of my friend Annie and her giggles because SpongeBob is her favorite show.

I love to wear the color blue because every time I wear it, I get told I look like my sister - and she is my biggest role model.

If I have to pick a number, I always pick 3 - because it was my brother's first-ever footy number.

I see, think, and do things other people wouldn't because of how others' existences have crossed with mine. We may grow apart later in life - but there will always be an 'X' - an intersection between them and me.

I am a mosaic of experience, and every person you've ever met is one too. You're exchanging, adding, and losing pieces to each other.

Life's purpose is at the intersection.