Be kind to you

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The beauty of blogging is in the freedom to write or not write. I have not been writing lately for no particular reason other than it just has not been the right time and I have not been in the right mindset. That said, my struggle to “be” continues. At times the fight is harder and in rare moments I am able to find some peace. I cherish those moments. Walks by the dunes, staring at the beach, the sky, the stars, drawing, designing, making clothes.

Then, there, I fell free, connected, one body, one soul. My physical appearance no longer matters. My bulging stomach becomes an insignificant worry and the XXL clothes? Well … just another thing of this world.

Since I last wrote, I have moved away from London, traveled to Africa and now back in the Netherlands. It has been a long long journey. I started a new job, a tedious, toxic one, but that was my choice. Now I need to work on getting out of it and finding something better. Living a well deserved life demands effort.

When I am not drained of energy, I motivate myself towards my freedom. Towards being the person that I really want to be. Although that remains undefined, I know aspects of what brings me peace within. Creativity being one of them. Self-expression, whether confronting a small conflict or asserting my ideas is another.

Since I have been denying myself of that right to “be”, it seems easier to give in and settle with the mistaken habits, of being someone else; until I realize, all I am doing is giving my power away to invisible influences. Quickly, I lose myself.

So, the struggle continues. I suspect, there is a high probability that  this will be a lifetime struggle. Though I hope, it will become easier with time.

I used to think that I needed a break from the World because it was so mean to me. Truth is, I was cruel to myself. Then I had another realization. There will always be bitter times, the trick is to live it. Feel it. I do not want to forget or escape anymore. It has not worked. Bingeing, over-exercising, starving, trying to be perfect has not worked. Self-torture has failed. Self-love is surely the answer.

I hope to have a little more of it today, tomorrow and in all the other days I have left on this earth.

This I write to you and myself, so we both remember to “be”.

izaotee

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From bingeing to sleeping

Sometimes I wonder if I am clinically depressed. I know I am dealing with some lows, disapointment and insecurities. To the point where I never want to get out of bed. I procrastinate my work. If I am out, I cannot wait to go home, hide and escape under the covers. Sometimes I cry. On my knees in my bathroom floor, in my bathtub, curled up under my covers. I cry out of desperation, grief for my father’s passing, impatience, hopelessly dreaming for a better life. i cry. This is my week, my month. Am I depressed?

Gladly I am not bingeing so much anymore though. May be twice a week. I don’t fear food but the excess of it. The loss of control. At the same time I never want to go back to being too in control.

Today while talking to my therapist I thought I had figured out why I would not get out of bed. Not couldn’t but wouldn’t. Last night was I only fell asleep at 3 am. i just could not stop the thoughts, worries and feelings. They tormented me all night. UsuallyI would eat and eat and eat. Then fall asleep from the guilt, shame and physical pain. These days. My body is so broken. It cannot take anymore of the abuse. So while I tossed and turned. I was sure to have figured out why the abuse of sleep. I thought I had the answer: “i am scared to move out of my appartment, to travel back home”. But when I started my little summary of the week attempting to reach that conclusion. My argument lost its logical sense. He, in his trained professionalism, immediatly said that the sleeping, overeating, seeking for security is all a way of escaping the major decisions I need to make. The changes that my mind and body is longing for buth that I keep denying. I love arts, creativity but I never learnt it. I like law because I studied it and I am attracted to the theory of justice, of upholding the rights of citizen. Unfortunately the legal profession has been toxic to my mind and thus my body and soul. Arts on the other hand makes me whole. So even though it might be easy to say: then be an artist, be creative. I am terrified that O have wasted my life studying and dreaming about law. Was that all a waste? Or does God really have a plan for me? As my mother believes strongly he does, at least for my legal career.

The decision pending for me is whether I want to do the bar exam. Whether spending that time and energy is worhtwhile and something I honestly want to pursue. All I know is that it might be. I also know now that I cannot live without art.

Those who work at starbucks …

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Lost in deep hesitation that lasted a whole day, I stayed in my appartment.

I applied for jobs, worried  about my bills, my uncertain future, and tried to continue my design project. My body wanted to get out. My mind refused, finding the stupidest excuses. You could binge you know! You are too fat! Too ugly! Too lazy to put on some clothes and walk out! People will stare at you when you get there! People will wonder why you are still eating when you are already that large! They might wonder why you are drawing, writing and all alone! Stupid thoughts ! I ended up working on my design in the safety of my appartment. Opened the door to my little roof top. Stared at urban pigeons feeling free to parade before my eyes. London was sunny today. Beautiful and sunny. How could I let those hideous voices take over me? I walked out to the nearest starbucks, ordered a frapuccino and here I am writing on my phone feeling comfortable. As I walked in I looked around. People don’t care. They are just there some studying, others writing, franctically on their laptop, reading or tchating. No one was explicitly judging me, noone said any hurtful words to me.  At that moment, their thoughts were just theirs. I had imagined it all. Unable to hear them, they were harmless. Thoughts won’t kill me.

Today I became one of those who work at starbucks. Freed from the chains of my hideaway appartment. It felt fine.

Izaotee

Out of my hiding place

Don’t want to hide, lie or suppress feelings anymore.

I want to express myself and learn to communicate.

I am rebelling against who I thought I should be.

Pushing away the real and unreal pressures.

A new person? No. The same being, simply out in the open.

Out of my hiding place. Why? Because I feel better when I assert myself and talk things over with the two most important figures in my life now: my mother and oldest brother. It is as if a load lifts off my shoulder.