Things I Wrote when I Wasn’t Eating.
{source}
By Krista Sassani
After much soul-searching and jeans-shopping, I decided to go on a raw food diet.
Gone were sugar, caffeine, alcohol, oils, animal-produced items, and anything that ever existed in a state over 110 degrees. Before the euphoria of a beautifully clean system set in, the withdrawal symptoms were fierce.
Day Three ended with a phone call to my mom, discussing who I would be willing to murder for a piece of bread.
The following tidbits are some of what came out of me when I wasn’t spending as much time piling things in. I didn’t know I’d find my voice buried under all that I had swallowed.
1. Someday I will no longer blush when your mind touches mine. I hope it isn’t soon.
2. Depression hurts — Cymbalta can help. So could God. Be ye grieved, my children — His second coming has not yet been approved by the FDA in pill form. Our livers rejoice.
3. A mustache without a beard is a curious thing. Like a potential vision caused by a hair in your eye. It makes me look twice. Tickles my fancy.
4. Of course my car needs new tires… they could tell from my face I’ve been spinning my wheels.
5. I am delighted. You sometimes make no sense when you speak, but the sparkle in your eyes is eloquent enough. My memory rustles in your breath… take me in your arms. I know where this is going.
6. Thank God for the news at 11 tonight — otherwise I would not know what it is fashionable to be afraid of.
7. No, the sound of the vacuum won’t bother me. Cleaning is a noisy business, and I’m happy to watch someone else cause the ruckus. Someone else to unearth the dirt and the dust and roll back the rugs. Save the proverbial two cents from getting sucked up in the hoses.
Remove the fingerprints from our surfaces. No, I don’t mind the noise at all.
8. When did I decide to try to conquer the world at my own expense? Whose truth is this that I read at bedtime and made into my constitution, instead of someone else’s nightmare prophecy? This is not me. This is not truth.
9. A knife — so much a weapon — a warrior bent upon one knee, the heritage of tribes and peoples, a lineage of concentration — the tool used to remove a wad of dried gum from an area rug at the local Firestone. What the hell has happened to us? How long have we been asleep?
10. I want you to need me so I can be the one to decide to leave or stay. This is my subconscious’ idea of freedom. This is a lie. I am constantly in a state of making choices — and that responsibility for my own fate makes me uncomfortable. So I cower behind my desire for you.
11. Every spiteful petty collection of words that comes out of me reflects my awesome fear — and I am so ashamed. In moments of total honesty, I know I love the world so much I would burst and blow this little skin apart. The warmth is struggling to surge into these giant outside spaces.
But in my dreams of separation, I worry that this world won’t love me back and, turning away from the blazing sun, I warm my hands by my little fire.
12. So you want to take me home tonight; to drown your madness in some other vessel. And this container suits you down to the ground. What makes you think I’m empty and waiting? From where I sit, in all my wit, I warn you that I’m full of… he he.
13. I’m sorry I forgot to wear my caution tape today — like the sash of an accidental beauty queen. It would’ve prevented this conversation. I have many faults I need to laugh at to survive, and you have no sense of hilarity. This is doomed.
14. If you would hold my hand, maybe the rest of me could fall apart. I could shed this extra grief and begin again. Use the simple touch as template.
*****
Krista dislikes writing about herself in the third person, but is happy in most other modes of expression. Though she studied creative writing in school, and abused it heavily as a life raft in her twenties, it is only now, in her thirties, that a great respect for the craft and liberation from its use is dawning on her. Krista is a fusion belly dancer, body-worker and long-neglected writer. She is now finding her authentic voice in the pen, and the power it has to manifest strength through vulnerability — to change the way she sees the world. Traditionally the dancer is a mostly-silent artist. It’s time to go beyond the breath. It’s time to make some intentional noise.
{Sample the Feelings}
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