Days turned into weeks and I went on more job interviews then anyone should ever have to. My days felt heavy with a sense of defeat although I thought I was putting up a good front. I was looked at by friends, family even my kids like I was a ticking bomb. They didn’t tip toe around me but approached hesitantly with caution as they seemed unsure of the exact moment I would crumble into a million pieces. I had basically checked out of my brain and operated mostly feeling like an out of body experience. I was going through motions still doctors, physical therapists, job interviews, animal visits, apartment hunting and wine. Always wine. My weight again was topic of conversation and I know everyone was worried about me but between feeling like I was in a fishbowl with all eyes on me and the constant criticism of my inability to eat, I could barely stand it. Any moment I could I was sleeping. Going through enough therapy I know it’s a sign of depression, but I did not have time to fall apart. However that’s exactly what I felt was happening. Every day became more excruciating not having a job or place to live. I was technically homeless but technically not. I was fortunate enough to spend 7 nights a week between friends and family who rallied around me. It was amazing how they took us in, but I needed to fix this and I couldn’t. The anxiety was almost unbearable to me. I was jittery and my arms were weak with angst almost every minute of every day. It was not an existence and I was fading away to boot. My identity, my life, my dreams and my waistline were reducing to nothing. I looked at myself in the mirror one day, something I used to love to do, but now a days was repulsed and embarrassed at the sight of myself. I saw my reflection and no longer recognized myself. I saw not only a tired, worn out, beaten down old woman; I saw death. Death of the spirit I once had, of the vibrancy I once gave off and of the woman I once was. It felt like a death had occurred. It felt like a murder had taken place, but no one discovered it yet.  It was murder in the first, premeditated. I was the only one who knew of this murder, this violent crime that had been committed. The pounds that were shed, the skin that I was now in held an empty shell of the person I once was. Like in Under the Tuscsn Sun when they tell Francis she’s at a crossroad and they don’t want her to end up an empty shell of a person. That is what I had become; an empty shell person. Where people would look at me and wonder what I must have gone through to end up that way.  As I looked in that mirror, twenty six pounds lighter then a few months before, eyes sunken, hair raw and brittle, skin pale in color and eyes no longer bright. There stood the empty shell. There had been a death. There had been a murder of sorts. The death of a woman I once knew, the death of a woman I once loved; that woman was me.

6 thoughts on “Reflection

  1. that was so raw and beautifully sad. It’s easy to let stress get in between you and your health. This has been a stressful week, and I do the opposite. I reach for my comfort foods. I lose control. It’s a fine line between indulging and giving in. Thank you for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What a strong use of words! ♥ My first time stopping by your blog, and I’m looking forward to learning more about you and where your journey has gone from here. I’m currently on the job hunt myself, and although I can’t say I’m in a struggle of a place as this post seemed, sometimes it beats me down to where I almost feel like letting myself sink in a hole. Thanks for sharing this story with me today.

    Liked by 1 person

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