Purging

Books, people, food.

On one end of the spectrum is nourishment, encouragement, fortification, body-building vitamins and minerals. Energy.

On the other end is venom. Poison. Toxins. Pollution.

In between, closer to the venomous end, are empty calories with no nutritional value. Enervators.

Why are we attracted to poisonous people? Well, we may be related to them. Hell, we’re related to everybody. That doesn’t mean you have to allow parasitic behavior. Who’s in charge of this Bod? Me. And do I want to energize or enervate?

My mother was lots of fun, everyone says so. But she was also off the rails a lot of the time, as was my father. Not their faults. Not-Good-Enoughs run rampant in the gene pool. I fall off the wagon again and again, forgetting I have a choice in how I spend my time and energy. Don’t have to do what’s always been done. Tradition isn’t always trustworthy.

It happens every so often: Ghirardelli brownies and Jameson’s after la madre transitioned. Candy, books, and movies are current distractions from what feels like endless Grief, Rage, Pain, and Terror. Processing takes time and patience. When will Sorrow give it a rest? Videos are an opiate, but the effects are fleeting. I am sick of horror stories masquerading as Art.

The Bod pipes up by purging both ends. No más, por favor. And so I delete ugly missives from former family, sugary cereals bought while sad, rusty tools and mildewy bags. 

I create space for fortifying friendships, healthy behaviors and boundaries, happier realities. In short, I am loving on myself.

Another capitana wanders the boatyard singing tunelessly to songs in her headphones. One day I am shocked to hear, “I’m a loser. Why don’t you kill me?”

I want a different soundtrack.