This is a part of the To Love Many Things series, to read about the origins click here.
That moment when everyone decides to just walk home, drunk and tired from the night’s shenanigans. And then you show up later than everyone else. That moment when you mock your complete and total aversion to all things cardio. Noting that the only time your heart rate gets up these days is during an episode of Pretty Little Liars. That moment when you linger on the joke for just too long because maybe it’s not actually a joke. That moment when the laughter fades away and you’re left with a void. You begin to lust for a body you once knew. A body that wasn’t even really yours. A body that laughed in the face of normal. A body that tricked and teased you incessantly. A body that told you normal wasn’t for you. That moment when you remember normalcy has never felt, normal.
No. Normal has never been an option. Normal has always been beneath you. Normal still, in this moment, is when nothing feels right. So you do what feels right. You eat what’s left of that chow mein in the fridge. That chow mein you let someone else eat most of because you swore you didn’t actually want it. That chow mein you can feel your body rejecting with each bite. Your body knows what to do without you even thinking. Up and out. Here we go. Here we go to normalcy.
Up and out down the drain. Up and out onto the bathroom floor. Up and out of this body. This body you don’t know. This body you don’t trust. This body. This. Body.
You used to know it. You knew every inch of it. You could count nearly every bone of it. You knew every lump, role, crease, defect. But you didn’t really know it. You didn’t know what it needed. What it truly craved; yearned for; desired. You didn’t know it was capable of going to hell and back until you took it to hell and back.
And now you’re back. You’re back in hell. As familiar as it seems, it feels different this time. This time you don’t want to stay. This time you want to get up and out. Out of hell, and back in to your body. Back on to the bathroom floor. Back in the present moment right here and now in front of you. Back into not feeling normal.
This isn’t normal. Normal is escaping. Normal is running with no intentions of returning. Normal is certainly not feeling. Normal is, no was, up and out. Whatever this, this new way of functioning is, it isn’t normal. But that seems to be the only sense of normalcy you’ve ever known. It’s normal to not feel normal. Normal was beneath you remember? So not being normal is okay. Things are okay. You’ll be okay.
Featured image credit: Hyperbole and a Half