I Refuse to Cross Over Until I Bleed the Last Drop of My Magnum Opus

Purging decades of ashes of a long narrative before my time runs out.

Photo by Marius Gerome on Unsplash

I haven't exactly gone down the rabbit hole of eggs and symbols à la Dan Brown, but I think it could be a good point to start if I eventually go there once I've run out of creative ink.

For now, I need to process and purge everything that has happened - my priority is to finally get the ashes of Mio's story out there.

I feel like I'm racing against time. There are times when I feel so fraught with illness and the possibility of death that I'd find myself pleading: Please, not now. Let me finish the story first.

When those dark thoughts hover, I'd fight back with a single resolve each time: Not until the world knows the people who forced this story to be written.

I'm currently resetting and optimizing with better routines. There is a lot I'm trying to do right now, though I prefer to keep certain specifics to myself until I finally succeed.

While I am mostly down due to my body condition, I make it a point to use every bit of my remaining time to stay productive. The rest is about self-improvement, learning new skills, and consolidating my work; it's a work in progress.

I am learning to breathe - it's an irony, isn't it? To spend decades living, only to realize I've deprived myself of the very thing that keeps me alive. I must have been depriving myself of a proper life by never truly breathing in.

Eating was the same - something I never quite did right. As a child, I couldn't grasp the meaning of hunger. I liked certain foods, but the concept of being hungry was foreign to me until someone finally asked if I felt it. I remember being confused, asking Does hungry mean you feel like you want to eat?

Because I was an incredibly slow eater, I struggled with textures and tastes that made things unpalatable for me; I was often force-fed. Eventually, I grew to love food, only for that joy to be stolen by the bullying that led to my downfall into bulimia.

Now, I am reclaiming my relationship with food through a meal with meaning each day. I want to complete each meal with the satiety that has always evaded me and finally give my body the nourishment it has always deserved.

For someone in my condition, automation in my daily routine would be a welcome relief; I only have so many spoons to spend.

I'm not exactly leaving AI aside; instead, I want to learn how to apply it practically to manage the scheduling and organization of my life like a personal assistant. This would allow me more time to focus on my writing and my recovery. After all, tech is created to make things easier for us.

There's a specific kind of vertigo that comes from living in the silence and bustle of a world that shows preference to those who are fundamentally different from me.

It prefers the easygoing and the outgoing over those who find comfort in their own shadows, or someone who has conversations with her cats. It favors those with high thresholds, while I have such a narrow tolerance for the real world that panic attacks can strike anytime, anywhere.

In short: someone like me.

I feel bashful whenever someone asks, What's your plans for the warm season? I hesitate to answer because I don't want to give the impression of being too delicate or too precious. It isn't an affectation; it is a physical condition that I live with.

After the brutal upheavals of this past year, I'll take Easter without formula. I'm resolving to get myself back into the Mass and strengthen my spirit for a proper Easter next year.

OMG, I am so sorry; I know I've been away for too long.

©Britt H.

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