Rain

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When London rains, I reconnect with the city. The double decker buses shine their devilish red just enough below the gloomy skies. The sounds of rain drops camouflage the urban noises that sometimes clouds even the clearest summer days. Everything slows down for a breath of life. The city finds its right pace.

London was designed for its rain. They compliment each other like a dress that fits perfectly on the right silhouette. Without these tears from heaven the city  has no soul, it is out of control. Red bricks clash with the grey concrete of all too many street, too busy, too much, too harsh.

I am relieved that it rained today. I have gone two days without a binge and one overeating. The past two days I drew, collaged, paid bills looked for a new appartment and drew some more. I felt alive again. Those were sunny unfamiliar days. Thoughts did not consume me. I was shining inside. The rain drew me closer to the world. It made me want to get out of my bubble with enough safety that I could belong just for a moment in London. But I didn’t instead I used it as an excuse to stay inside one more day.

This morning it became more challenging to move past the anxiety and worries. I have not binged or overeaten. But  I need some space. Time to contemplate. I wanted to go out view some appartments and pay more bills but deep down I do not feel motivated. So when it started raining, there I found yet another excuse to stay in.

I loved the rain more from inside my appartment.

So here I am admiring the city under its rain drops trying to stitch my mind and body so that it does not tear apart and crave for an escape because of unresolved real and unreal conflicts that I deliberately ignored.

There lies the struggles today

Izaotee

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Sleepless night

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23 43 – sleepless in my London appartment.

Thoughts invading my mind. Suprisingly I am not drowning in the urge to escape them. I had my dinner and am satisfied. Ignoring that little voices accomplice to my food splurges. The one that says well it is only just another muffin, you went a whole year without one.  That may be so but an extra muffin is only temporary bad quality plaster to my wounds.

I had an interesting afternoon at the Victoria and Albert  museum visiting an exhibition on the glamour of Italian fashion with my shortcourse classmates. Negative thoughts, guilt, regrets and sadness was still more present than ever. The fifth student actually, as I tried my best to concentrate on the research process. The class was uplifting in the end. Here I am at home, tireless but stronger against the urges to binge.

I realised during the sunny days wasted in bed that fo a while I will still surely be ambivalent about the fashion industry and the legal world. What my therapist would say “one foot in, one foot out”. May be I am simply one of those who cannot choose and will not choose between two great lovers. At least for a little while. The dream is to be able to do both. The reality is the inability to do either.

The lack of satisfying opportunity to be exact. I wish my creativity took up most of my time and generated sufficient financial returns. Sadly as I enquire more from professionals and others, it seems law is my safest bet. When I make that choice, I realise that I will have to accept it. I also need the time to allow myself to start and trust the decision. As I am writing this a rush of anxiety moves from my stomach to my throat.

While comparing myself to others, as I am used to doing. Bad habits die hard. I also observed that I am able to move forward when I accept my life, choices and body. Just own it all. The trick is to stay tuned with who I am and not fall in the trap of being a people pleaser when it is neither useful nor necessary. To get to acceptance comes with its challenges. Somehow when I acknowledge my present a giant weight lifts off. Such acceptance is only felt when I am being creative.

Right now, I wish the reasons giving this inner strength not to binge. This reassurance that nothing will harm me tonight. Not even myself. I wish these reasons were spelled out. This mystery that turns my shadows into light would be exposed. Brought to the open so that I can catch it and feed off it when I am lost, disconnected and in denial.

Sleepless. I still am.

Nothing will harm me tonight.

izaotee

A thought for my father

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If you have been reading the previous post. You would know that I walked out to the nearest starbucks for breakfast this morning. You might think it would be a trigger. Yet, I learned that it only becomes a trigger if I walk in while in a vulnerable place inside. So fragile that all I would want to do is escape. Reach for that fix. Run away from emotions that make me human.  I only needed a change of scene. I stayed in my apartment all day yesterday and it smelled like regrets, guilt and binge.

No make-up on, hair like a cave woman, clothes not matching. I needed to get out. Get some perspective. Get some space from my space. Then, after my little morning outing and grocery shopping. I came back to my niche. I broke down crying while printing images for my design research and listening to music. I cried because I missed my Dad. The thought was triggered as I was processing the bad news I received on tuesday. My cousin past away and lost her battle with breast cancer. She was only 32 years old. Diagnosed at 27. She left her husband and two boys of 9 and 7.

I wasn’t really close to her at all. My family always teased me about looking like her. Especially as she gained weight. To who-else compare the newly chubby girl than with the old chubby girl? I hated that comparison. She was also the youngest and only daughter. Any death is sad though I was never very close to her. Even so, it made think about my father and his passing. The void that he had left. Times I wish I spent with him, words I wish I had said. I never allowed myself the right to grieve until I started therapy again about a year ago. I thought that just like my mother, I was at peace with his departure. A lie. I was tirelessly restricting trying to be the perfect daughter.

Now, I let myself, miss him in the comfort of my room or my apartment here in London. Away from the stares and opinions. I truly miss him. I wish he was here. I wonder how things would differ if he was. Would I have held my ground and kept myself together? Would I have continued to keep a facade, try to the best of my ability to make my parents and brothers proud? Or would the real me, denied of the rights to freely live still push itself out anyway and demand its place in my world?

In a way, I believe not much would have changed. I would still discover my love for arts, face my struggles with food, continue to doubt my abilities to deal with those in the legal field. With or without him. Even if he was and always will be a part of me and has left an unforgettable print in my life, I cannot help but become the true person I am meant to be. Denying myself the right to “be who I am” in his presence or absence would still lead me to self-abuse.

Caught up in my overthinking. I miss my father. As simple a thought as that.

xoxoxoxo

I.

Food doesn’t work

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Yesterday and today have been horrible. I try not to complain too much but the lack of interesting happenings in my life during those two days are taking a toll on my mood. Part of the reasons that are making me feel this way is the fact that I am still unemployed. Since I graduated I tried internships, opening a business, applying for jobs, networking. None of which worked. I tried it both in law for which I have a degree in and in fashion for which I am passionate. So these past two days I have trying to cheer myself up. But nothing ! I ended up trying to find something to do in between meals. Watching movies and spending the days in bed. I also painted but my whole heart was not into it.

I started applying for jobs again. Online and using some networking. I have no idea how long that will take. Regardless I am most worried about how long I will be in this state. I feel as if I am letting my life slip away while I fixate on my failures.

I was never the going-out, surrounded by friends type of person. Though I tricked myself into thinking that I was because it was what others did. First year of university was when I really went out there. Made friends. Unfortunately they were erasmus students, so they left the next year. Loneliness does not agree well with me. I have had trouble making friends ever since. Well, that part of my past ties in with my move to any country really. I am terrible at keeping on touch, as I categorise those I meet with different chapters of my life. Chapters in which I never seemed to be the same person. Where I would mould myself to the new environment and fail to really be in touch with who I really am.

So here I am back in London with one friend V. She has been spending time with me, but she works, so she has limited time to. Since I am unemployed I have very little social interactions. I feel alone. There is another reason for my sadness. I can’t seem to pick myself up. I want to apply for jobs. I wish I could stay here in London forever but because of my visa I can’t. The prospect of going home is painful. I don’t fit-in there. I don’t feel comfortable. I feel caged. There is yet another reason.

Right now I wish I had the courage to put on the baggiest clothes and buy some art materials. Come back and sink into my sketch book. If only I could generate money by doing that and only that. I wouldn’t even care if law was on the side. If only. In the mean time I turn to food for comfort and escape. It really doesn’t do the trick. I refuse to eat all day so when I don’t eat. I am still lost, the reasons are still there so present. I have conversations in my head to quiet the negative thoughts when I get tired. I simply fall asleep. Another day goes by.

I could write forever. I have no conclusions. Just that I am still frowning inside and out.

izaotee