--"The Monster," Rihanna, a song done by people who've never experienced psychosis.
After meeting with the English instructor for coffee, I immediately wanted to drive to a bar, and have a drink. Being that I don't have the money to waste on booze, I motivated myself to go to the gym instead. Of course, at five o' clock on a Saturday, there weren't many people in the gym. I thought about all those Saturday nights that I spent chasing men around, and partying.
In some effort to boost my self-esteem as I drove away from the cafe, I reminded myself that I chew up and spit men out, that's what I do, and it usually doesn't take long, maybe a few hours, maybe a few days, but it happens, over and over again. I can't count the number of men I've rejected or fucked. Is it petty arrogance or just self-preservation? Probably both.
The truth is, I don't feel like that girl anymore. When Morpheus talked about how I don't have that confidence anymore, he was right. It's gone. I'm not sure what happened, maybe it was years alone and a sudden, large weight gain. Now, I don't like undressing for myself, much less anyone else. Far cry from getting up on a stage, swinging around on a pole, and stripping nude for an audience.
It's easy to romanticize my stripping days, as the LSU Professor and Harry like to remind me that during that period, I didn't seem to like myself very much then either.
I don't remember liking myself when I was at my thinnest (right before I started taking the Seroquel). I've heard that from several anorexic sources that even at ninety pounds, they found some way to hate themselves, thinking that finally being thin enough, their low self-worth would blossom into a blind sense of superiority. It never does, except in recovery, when a person learns to dispels all of those negative thoughts.
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