this year i am embarking on a self-worth journey. well. it started on a 'better relationship with myself' and then into 'self-care' then self worth and then lately i've been wondering if self-love is a better phrase because holy fuck i truly did not see, i didn't have the time to look inside my padded ribs to see that i am filled with such pure self-hate, so much self-loathing. it seeps out of my pores. it's agonising and off putting and i never realised before. it poisoned all the flowers on every floral print in every bed i've ever slept in.
chiron is in my first house. it's been a lifelong catch, i've been fighting myself a long time and i've been using the same fight choreography, the same techniques. they're so old. the bulimia has taken the enamel off my teeth, it's exhausted my body. i have drugged and drank myself into situations so nightmarish i still feel haunted. my entire body is laced with thick and fine criss-crossing scars. i have let men use me like a sex toy. i have tried it all.
but i've never tried laying my weapons down and declaring a truce with my body. not peace just yet. but a truce could be possible.
give me a scale that measures the weight of the world. subtract that from the shoulders. you'd find one motherfucking skinny girl. - The Little Bukowski
