if you measure my worth…my WORTH as a human being, using my “body of work,” I’ll come up short every time. I just got the courage, in my late 50s, to have my writing be my truth. it’s so much harder than fiction! I can’t even bring myself to lie or embellish (stuff I’m REALLY good at) because it just feels WRONG. Ah, but my TRUTH! it seems to be sometimes trickling, sometimes erupting in spurts of painful honesty. I’m calling them thoughts, observations (ugh), blogs, creative writing, and poetry. I’m not good with labels. I’m learning to be the vessel. The conduit between my astral guide, eager to share a new idea that needs to be illuminated, and my writing. what comes out (hopefully) is a carefully constructed piece of writing that is thought-provoking and meaniingful, maybe only in a small way. but what’s important is that it’s OUT THERE. mustering the courage to push things OUT THERE…it is rewarding and self-affirming.
But, is this TRULY my BODY OF WORK? I’m not so sure. My BODY OF WORK is my physical body, which reflects the “work” part, that has been going on for 40 years. eating disorder defines me. I’m bulimic (recovering), and I have MS, which is ravaging my body as we speak. so my BODY OF WORK is weak. nevermind the book and the blogging; the literal “body of work” that exists. my body is riddled with GI complications, all of my own doing. MS, however, is not something I have chosen. I’m slowly losing my legs, but choose to look at that loss as a challenge (of course I say that…just a nice way of saying it blows). my body is a survivor’s body. I mean that in the most literal of ways – this body has survived. it has endured. it’s not in good shape, and reminds me every day. arthritis, high blood pressure, high cholesterol…all hallmarks of aging. I am not an age-conscious person, and don’t mind growing older. I’m not afraid! but I’m afraid I’ve got a weak body, and it’s not ready for unusually difficult tasks, mental or physical. internal dialogue is crushing me, and feeding the ED. I am inside out and feeling every painful thought, on the surface and in my mind..
I am wounded.