From Herself.
She went to the private cabin hoping to find peace in the woods. She turned her phone off and shoved it into the trunk, then spread all the canvases, oils, pencils, brushes, and watercolors across the wooden floor of the tiny living room. She laid on her stomach and started painting quietly, trying to keep all her shaky thoughts under control. For a while they did not make her dizzy, but all of a sudden they stormed and filled her with anxiety like violent waves. She started to shake and ruined the oil in her hands. She looked at the broken piece with frustration, and the stinging tears finally reached her eyes. Without fighting them, she stood up facing the body size mirror by the wall. She stared at her own reflection with disgust and disappointment, and finally let all the thoughts, which felt like sharp screams inside her head, flow without control. The thoughts grew louder and the tears larger, but she had given up fighting them and just let her body shake and burn with them.
Her arms wrapped her body as she struggled to hold onto her control, and her fingernails dug her skin deeply. They traced long, white marks along her arms, stomach, and legs that did not bleed but did sting just enough. She stopped controlling her feelings and just let them out through tears and screams as they came across her mind. She felt hungry and thirsty but had only brought a half empty bottle of water. She did not mind it, though, because deep down she enjoyed that pain. She enjoyed her grumbling stomach, burning throat, and stinging skin because the physical pain made the psychological one -which was invincible, untouchable and incomprehensible- more bearable and justifiable. She liked the pain because she thought she deserved it.
Still in tears but unable to look at herself any longer, she looked away from the mirror and sat on the wooden floor surrounded by her utensils. She did not plan her color, medium, style, or theme but simply grabbed the first blank page and began drawing. Her heart still raced and her skin still burned, but her hands had regained control and were able to guide the pencil across the paper like an experienced dancer. She drew without striving for perfection because all she wanted was to calm her body--to carry the anxiety out through random lines instead of painful thoughts. When the tears finally ceased, she reviewed her improvised painting with surprise: her own silhouette appeared lost in the woods looking desperately for a way out of the labyrinth of trees. She recognized that the drawing lacked details and definition, but since it transmitted all her desperation, details were unnecessary. She turned the paper carefully and wrote the conversation she had had with herself earlier:
"'I am not good enough.'
'Good enough at what?'
'Loving.'
'Who are you trying to love?'
'Myself,'"
She held the paper to her chest and looked back at the mirror. Another tear ran down her cheeks as she closed her eyes to let out a deep breath. She had excused her visit to the cabin with needing time away from the city and people, but she knew that all she really needed was time away from herself.
Her arms wrapped her body as she struggled to hold onto her control, and her fingernails dug her skin deeply. They traced long, white marks along her arms, stomach, and legs that did not bleed but did sting just enough. She stopped controlling her feelings and just let them out through tears and screams as they came across her mind. She felt hungry and thirsty but had only brought a half empty bottle of water. She did not mind it, though, because deep down she enjoyed that pain. She enjoyed her grumbling stomach, burning throat, and stinging skin because the physical pain made the psychological one -which was invincible, untouchable and incomprehensible- more bearable and justifiable. She liked the pain because she thought she deserved it.
Still in tears but unable to look at herself any longer, she looked away from the mirror and sat on the wooden floor surrounded by her utensils. She did not plan her color, medium, style, or theme but simply grabbed the first blank page and began drawing. Her heart still raced and her skin still burned, but her hands had regained control and were able to guide the pencil across the paper like an experienced dancer. She drew without striving for perfection because all she wanted was to calm her body--to carry the anxiety out through random lines instead of painful thoughts. When the tears finally ceased, she reviewed her improvised painting with surprise: her own silhouette appeared lost in the woods looking desperately for a way out of the labyrinth of trees. She recognized that the drawing lacked details and definition, but since it transmitted all her desperation, details were unnecessary. She turned the paper carefully and wrote the conversation she had had with herself earlier:
"'I am not good enough.'
'Good enough at what?'
'Loving.'
'Who are you trying to love?'
'Myself,'"
She held the paper to her chest and looked back at the mirror. Another tear ran down her cheeks as she closed her eyes to let out a deep breath. She had excused her visit to the cabin with needing time away from the city and people, but she knew that all she really needed was time away from herself.
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