Understanding triggers for and symptoms of the blackness is admirable. The work that we have done to accomplish these things, amidst all the shit of the last year and a half (let’s be serious, amidst all the shit that life just presents, that sometimes makes life, life), is admirable. Shaming attacks are something that we can name. That certain clothing will solicit certain reactions in my head about my body is known. Lack of sleep or food will cause the spinniness to ramp up, giving the blackness more to fight with or less to fight against.
All that being equal, it is still hard to look in the mirror and see a flap of skin under your chin after you shave. This flap of skin that is just skin, that is just a piece of you that does not show weight gain or imperfection, it inspires screams. This small flap of skin under my chin (this will not be an ode) is similar to the flap of skin between my belly button and my waistband. They are parts of me that the blackness reminds me about when I’m feeling tired, feeling fat, feeling vulnerable.
How is it that an evolved, self-aware recoverer still has these thoughts? It is part of living with this disease, with this blackness. It will find its home in the cracks, always waiting for an opportunity to strike. It will hide in the shadows waiting for a little too much wear or a little too much tear or a little too much acoustics. This is not an echo of the past; the blackness is in my blood. It is dizzying in how breathless it leaves me.
We are stronger and it might eventually go into remission, but I will always be in recovery.
I accept that; I am just sad that I hear its voice…