It's me against the road. Me against myself. Me against my brain's ability to just.keep.going, when everything in me wants to quit. Sweat dripping off of me, I've somehow stopped giving a shit about whether or not people think I look like an idiot. Because I don't care. They aren't working their ass off. I am. And I think that's pretty damn cool. So screw them and their opinions.
Food is a weapon, in my arsenal of self punishment. It has been for ages and ages. The delight in hunger, the craving for that sensation, and the gorging and shoving because food can shove down feelings, despite what the skinny self help guru's say. Food can be a fabulous distraction from whatever the hell else you don't want to be focusing on. Food is a weapon, for self hatred, self punishment, feeling in "control".
None of us really have our shit together. I think realizing that is one of the most powerful steps to any sense of happiness. We've all got skeletons, we are all destructive (in some sense), we all have scars... So.what? Your scars, while may be different from mine, don't make you any more or less worthy, and neither do mine.
But all of that gets poured in to my body, or maybe out of it, when my legs are begging me to stop, and my brain is saying that I decide when I'm finished. I can feel my heart beating. I can feel my lungs breathing. I can feel the movement of every single one of my muscles. It's bizarre to feel so acutely aware that I'm alive, and yet to feel so fiercely like I'm dying, in a singular moment.
The voices go silent. It feels like the only time I'm actually listening, to myself.
Me against the road. Me against myself. Where does self hatred go, when you take away the weapon of food?
