20/5/2016

I don’t really want to go to a party.

Today I am exhausted, lifting my arms seems like a ridiculous and pointless task only thought up to torture me, as does climbing the stairs.

I’m still capable of forcing myself to do these things but it’s like a huge part of me is screaming ‘NO!’ or if I’m honest it’s probably mumbling something along the lines of ‘I need a break; get stuffed!’.

Feeling divided like this is something I find hard to explain to anyone. How can you say ‘it’s like I don’t want to…’ without the person you’re talking to making the connection between ‘want’ and ‘choice’ then from there to ‘mind’, ‘psychological’ and ultimately right back to ‘choice’? I need you to understand that, yes, I’m describing this in a way that sounds like I’m consciously telling myself not to bother moving but give me a chance, let me explain what I mean by this.

Your mind and body are connected, in many ways the same. If you injure you’re finger you feel pain BUT you also have a thought; a thought of ‘Oh !$@^ that hurt!’ and ‘must avoid *insert cause of accident here* in future’. “I don’t want to move from this spot,” is not the cause of my suffering. It’s the thought connected to it. Rather than ‘avoid hot pan else you burn finger ow ow ow!’ my body says ‘avoid all movement please don’t make me work even harder I can’t cope any more.’.

 

But what am I meant to do? I have places I need to go, shops I want to visit, just like everyone else and every time I choose instead to stay here and ‘rest’ I feel like I’m letting myself down. Today I imagined I was going to a party. I have an invitation to a party that I’ve chosen not to accept. Because I don’t want to send this version of myself to a party. My joggers and pastel hoodie reminded me too much of reality so in my mind I swapped them for a nice pair of black high wasted jeans paired with a loose fawn coloured jumper, fitted perfectly at the shoulders with a ‘V’ neckline and slightly gathered in casually at the hem. I considered this a far more appropriate outfit for this party-going version of myself. But why, if I don’t want to send myself to a party, did I enjoy opening my wardrobe and laying eyes on a shimmer of black, a glint from the sea of sequins and slowly reaching out to take the jacket from it’s place on the rail quite as much as I did? Why was that such a perfect moment? I laid the sequined peplum thing on the floor carefully after moving past my bed. I don’t lay things on there anymore in case I need to lie down and am instead forced to put away a heap of clothes… The hat was in clear view. Someone gave it to me recently and I have not yet got around to finding it a permeant ‘home’. It’s plain, black, dare I say boring? But I can just imagine tipping the brim forward and smiling out from underneath at my friends when I got to the- “Does all this make believe party nonsense mean I’m going mad?” I wonder, “Nah, I’ve been nutty for years…” and so the ‘make believe nonsense’ continues.

I wouldn’t usually wear the stretchy clingy black and green check shorter-than-short skirt that I pull out the drawer but the sequined jacket still has it’s label on and the party is imaginary so something tells me what I’d ‘usually’ do doesn’t come in to this. The high-wasted-skinny-jeans Sakara tries to find some appropriate tights. Pastel-hoodie Sakara gives up and goes back to bed.

 

I don’t want to go to a party, leave early and have to be careful about how much energy I use the whole time I am there. I am not a part of any world that hosts sparkly parties. I belong to a world of little blogs and Instagram accounts of people who are desperately trying to form some kind of connection with someone, needing to have some kind of social interaction. My party outfit is still on the floor in my room. I’ll probably never get a chance to wear it.

Then again, you never know, come the 25th of May I might just be joining in the virtual protest for #millionsmissing, telling the world that I’m “Missing my party.” an imaginary party still counts, right?

 

Sakara.

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P.S. Maybe ‘missing my sanity’ would be more appropriate… πŸ˜‰

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