Rolling down the HIll

They say that anorexics are often being stifled- being controlled by someone else to such a point that they are literally trying to make themselves smaller so that they can fit in the world. This has never made sense to me- no one is stifling me so much I as stifle myself. Shrinking away from myself by shrinking into myself just doesn’t make sense. I do however huddle. I make myself into a little ball- when im most depressed or stressed I am most likely to be found not hiding under the covers in my bed but on the floor. Preferable in a corner, preferably with a mirror. Marya Hornbacher wrote that sometimes when she feels unconstrained she has her husband sit on her -an idea which seemed ridiculous to me upon first reading it. I mean she is a woman who weighed less than 60 pounds for a chunk of her adult life- having a grown man sit on her does not seem smart, or safe. But thinking about it it makes total sense. That’s what I do with corners. I create a tiny space and I fit myself in it and then I feel safe- confined.
This is my space-
this is my world-
it ends right here with this wall and here with another.
Theres not enough space for bad things to get in.
this is me and my space. Its comforting. Its where I go to throw my hands up. I give up- I’m done- I can’t fight it anymore. That’s when I find a corner
and I huddle
and I cry.
And in lui of actually huddling: when life is at a point where I can’t or wont stop- don’t have the option to throw up my hands and find a corner- I see myself huddling. I imagine things a lot- mentally right things in a physically wrong world. At concerts I have cartoonish arms ala mr tickles that grow out and pick people up that are in my way - depositing them along the side and out of my line of view so I can happily watch the band. Often times my gangly arms will reach out and cover the mouth of some loud talker at a bar or resturuant. Embarrisingly, for a little while when I worked at a retail clothing store I would lean back against the kaki wall and imaging snatching screaming babies out of their mothers arms or their safe little strollers and and slamming their heads into walls until in a bloody mess they shut up. I don’t know if a maternal instinct has set in since then or I’ve just gotten nicer as I age but I don’t do that anymore. My mr tickles arms may stretch their little bonnets down over their little screaming faces but that’s about the extent of my imagined harm to babies these days. With the exception of the bloody babies these thoughts often make me giggle with glee- if only for a moment. Today I went for a hike in hopes that sunshine and nature and the feel of wind on my skin would shake me out the depressive funk I’ve been in for days. That maybe doing something would give me the energy to do anything actually remotely productive today. (which it didn’t unless you count chopping up a single fig and mixing it with a teaspoon of peanut butter, cinnamin and way too much splenda in a tiny little bowl and then eating it by the spoonful- productive.) Hiking the downhill portion of a fairly steep hill I mentally decided to give up. I saw myself just stopping and huddling into my familiar little ball. I saw my huddled self rolling uncontrollably down the zig zagged hill. Even now, just as it did earlier the thought of makes me giggle with glee. a moments giddiness in a day of ambivilance is helpful little ray of sunshine. I try to laugh at the craziness as much as I can. Cause, fuck ,what else can you do?