My life has become a dreaded self-fulfilling prophecy. At one point in my life, I felt like I was discovering who I am–I was a strong, health-conscious, young and married graduate student, studying to teach history and in turn write history. I had turned my life around and finally caught a glimpse of my real self. I am good at something. I AM capable of love. I can eat what I want and not gain weight or feel guilty. It felt good. It felt natural.
But today, as I sit here at my desk, I am shocked at how much I have dreaded becoming the person I am now. Now I am isolated and alone most of the time, barely getting any satisfaction out of the things I once enjoyed. Working out is futile, as is reading, since I can’t clear my mind long enough to concentrate. Half of the day I sit at this desk and feel ashamed that I have not become more in my 27 years, disappointed that I still haven’t found sustainable peace in life. The other half of the day is spent rebelling with food in isolation, which keeps the machine well-oiled and almost guaranteeing that the next day, no matter how honest and goodmy intentions are in the morning, I will repeat the cycle with more efficiency than before. The guilt becomes clearer and more defined–it’s not just guilt for the food, but guilt for the glutton, jealousy, and lack of motivation. The shame is thick, like a suffocating tar–I can’t just wake up and rinse it off like the suds of my soap.
And so it goes. My life on auto-pilot. I’m becoming more and more of the sullen person that I DON’T want to be.