thoughts

Watchroom

I stood in front of the washroom mirror and watched myself cry for five minutes.

I saw my cheeks turn rosy, and my already pink eyes (from hurting all day) turn bloodshot. I was a mess. My breathing pattern was uneven as I tried to catch as much oxygen as I could in between my sobs. I watched myself be so vulnerable for five minutes. And it would have been longer if someone hadn’t walked in as I was catching my breath. I held it. I held the sounds I made, I held my breath but I let the tears fall.

So this is what I look like when I’m uncontrollably crying, I thought to myself.

Then I thought, I hate my ability to turn my pain into an everlasting masterpiece.

Because I do.

Yet I tell myself I won’t let it [my pain] deter me from further producing… And I’m sitting here. I’m just fucking sitting here with all of these feelings.

Do you know how badly I wanted to punch the mirror? How badly I wanted to get rid of this image of myself?

Obviously within the few minutes that this person was in the washroom with me, I scrambled out of there. But at the moment I was fascinated with the depth at which the pain was hitting my body.. I have a headache – been had a headache, my eyes are heavy, my chest is heavy… I feel like a blob.

I stared at myself one last time before running out of there. I just watched my eyes… I watched my eyes one last time and thought, This is what hurt looks like.

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