Sometimes I ponder things, my eyes and heart have such a yearning to see and hear. I try to see the colors of the wind and its whispered voice through the trees. Sometimes I look at strangers and try to imagine their life’s movie having only the visuals of their walk, their eyes and the way they carry their body. Sometimes I look up at the tree tops, the mountains, clouds or birds floating upon the thermals and try to hear the voice of Creation, the voice of Life. Sometimes, sometimes I think I think too much and surely I must be a freak.
I have walked so many seasons, and most of them, until last October I have worked. I have walked so many seasons immersing myself in books, poetry, and philosophy devouring everything I could read. I could read then, now, my eyes see mostly blurs. I have walked so many seasons, and run. I could run marathons. My body’s physical strength, especially since I am somewhat small, always amazed me and others, I could always find a reserve. I have no reserve, my clothes no longer fit, so much weight has been lost and she is weak. So many seasons I have walked and my hands were a second voice writing about the ponderings and lifting up hope, compassion, and simple things like writing my name. My hand tremors now and cannot write. With my blurry eyes I struggle to find the errors in what my shaking hand tries unsuccessfully to write. The voice of my hands, like the voice of my body, stutters and grows quiet, embarrassed, frustrated and feeling she has nothing to say. Sometimes I look at my body and how I try to adapt to my eyes, my weakness, my spoken voice and the voice of my hands and think surely, yes, I am a freak.
Does not one with an eating disorder see themselves “fat”? Does not one who is told they are too tall or big, too short, or not the right size to be a ballerina, a gymnast, an athlete, or even to perform a job, feel themselves inadequate, their body extinguishing the heart’s candle? The list of mirrors, of images goes on and on. We never seem to be what we feel or want to be. The camera’s portrait never mirrors our fears, our beliefs, our desires or the candle burning inside. In so many ways, the images are watermarked with ‘freak.’
I wanted to write something profound. I had a thought when I began. I’ve lost it now. Sometimes my brain gets fuzzy and distracted. Maybe what I wanted to say, was simply you are my other me. And maybe if we both believe that, really believe that in our hearts, then you will know I speak the truth when I say you are beautiful and so not a freak. And maybe if I find a way to embrace and bleed within my heart that you are my other me, when you tell me I am beautiful and not a freak, because your eyes are mine, I too will see. You are my other me. Since I lost whatever profound thought I had, we could just sit together speak of what we see. And with a wink of grace, compassion and belief, together we will see what our self-portraits do not.