I’ve had a song stuck in my head all week. No, not that unusual for me. But it was Sheryl Crow (at least it’s not Rolling Stones’ Sympathy for the Devil while working with missionaries in Kenya):
Not sure if this quite sums up where we are, where I am on this road of recovery. Mostly due to the irony of the song, it doesn’t really fit (ever so snuggly, he remembered). It doesn’t fit reclaiming healthy, finding the me-est version of me.
What’s better is this:
Never been a huge Sloan fan, but they have a resoundingly appropriate chorus: “If it feels good, do it. Even if you shouldn’t. Don’t let people mess you around.”
I shouldn’t portion count, says majority opinion.
I should eat intuitively, says majority opinion.
I should be able to rest if I just listen to my body, says majority opinion.
I haven’t been able to. It is not me, at least for now. I don’t feel hungry if I’m not constantly paying attention to it, checking the levels by a watch. I don’t like having to worry, about food in this case. I shouldn’t, but these feel good, appropriate for me, right. They fit ever so snuggly.
So fuck you blackness and your shoulds, since that’s the source of them, I know. We’ll do what works for us, the lines that work for us and make us vivid – a vividness that will fight to outshine even the blackest of your dark corners.
Redrawing the lines for the road ahead, so I can be the Don I want to be; seeing the lines form and others fade away.