…>< been in a deep funk for some time now – having particularly bad luck lately. I fell down twice in the span of 3 days, getting injuries that were bad enough for people to twitch in shock when they see me, things arent going according to expectations, and the last straw really was when I made a really stupid decision that I’m going to take more than a while to forgive myself for.
I’ve been trying to hide in the hustle and bustle of everyday life (yes escapist tendencies), but the Woods have been calling to me irresistably, so here I am, a lot of angst (sorry) and all.
The following piece is kind of half-finished, but I like the beginning so here goes:
Self-disgust is yellow.
As much as yellow is usually associated with happiness to people, yellow is the colour of our self-despair. It is the dull sickly colour of the bile you vomit out with the food you just ate, the light nauseating colour of the viscous pus that oozes from your open wounds, and of the gooey mucus that drips from your nose when you’re sick for the third time in the week.
You know it better than I do: yellow is the colour of pain and reality.
Since that day, she had been doing this everyday for a month now, but everyday still felt like it was her first time. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what to expect- she did, and dreaded it terribly, and so she would stand like this in front of the mirror for a few minutes everyday, struggling with herself.
In the end though, she flicked the switch on as she had done before for the past days, and would continue to do in the days to come, her hand trembling but nevertheless still poised with a certain skewed elegance of its own.
The room was filled with clean, soft light. In the full-length mirror before her, her body was semi-hidden in the shadows cast by her lumpy contours, but all her imperfections were immediately apparent to her. Nothing had changed since that day, she thought with despair and resignation – she was still as ugly and as fat despite her efforts.
Naturally, the Aphrodite statue on her bookshelf mocked her; you’re destined to be revolting for life. Ugly Girl! it jeered.
She turned away in anger, pretending she hadn’t heard it, but the cruel words trailed after her till she ran out of the house to catch her bus, a milk moustache painted above her lips.