I had bought these flowers from the reduced aisle at the supermarket.
When I was browsing the selection I reflected that actually, it is mostly the act of buying flowers which makes me feel good. For me, it has always been an act of defiance against circumstance and of taking control – So what if no one buys me expensive flowers I am going to spend this money on myself! ‘Sticking the middle finger to’…
I had some friends over and we were sitting around when one friend produced a sentence which took me by surprise. ‘These flowers are beautiful, pure and delicate just like you’ she said.
I don’t feel delicate on the inside. I feel more like a huge glutinous monster, sitting in a bath of rancid slime enclosed in uter darkness of this skin coloured envelope.
This monster would rather eat chocolate and drink beer in soft duvets until it got bed sores.
I feel prickly and resistant, I have heard too many times that it is ‘all my fault’, ‘that I should try harder’ that ‘it’s not fair on others.’
This person whom I married pushed me away so much that he pushed me into myself so deep that I can feel my insides. It is quite dark here. There are no unicorns and no rainbows. There is just earth and compost and a stench of honesty.