March 16, 2018

That damned need for…

Silversnake Michelle bulimia, emptiness, hollowness

« Evil I’ve often encountered in life; it was the strangled rivulet gurgling, it was the shriveling of parched leaves, it was the horse falling heavily. Good I have not known; except the wonder that reveals divine Indifference; it was the statue in the somnolence of noon, and the cloud, and the hawk flying high. Eugenio Montale (Italian poet). »

Yes, the evil of living, the boredom, the uneasiness, the anger, the loneliness, the frustration, the apathy. And that damn need to fill, fill, and fill, an insatiable void.

That feeling of a lost love. The time that eludes us and the sense that is lost in the mess of differently similar days. That soul locked in a too small body to hold it. A body that, in moments of sadness, becomes heavy and redundant. A body that only needs to be hugged, but is being filled instead.

Filled to hide a too deep pain, that even you don't know what are the reasons for, and that you don't want to feel. So you fill. To satiate a love’s need throbbing and relentless. And you fill again. Stuffing yourself to death. Food now is the solace, the shelter, the love.

You lose your control in that manic, obsessive, nervous behavior. Nothing new compared to other kinds of addiction.

But you know… too much is too much. And so you feel awful. You begin to see your overly fat and deformed image. You feel guilty about that fragile and addicted behavior that you suddenly hate. The same food that used to comfort you so much, must now be purged from your body. Too much love equals obsession. You feel choked by the “too much”. And somehow you have to empty. But often emptying is not enough, you need to lash out toiling yourself to death in the gym to exude that frustration.

After the physical emptiness, that pain you were trying to suppress, tears you up violently by reappearing in a bad way. Thus also comes anxiety, sometimes followed by panic attacks. It’s a devastating sensation of “something’s” lack I can't define. A sensation of unfinished and scrappy. A hanging cadence. Death, madness, then everything passes… and to all this is to be added the fear of what has been, and that this may return.

Food, sex, booze, different ways of exorcising the fear of existence, the fear of not being loved, of not being enough, of not having get to the point in life. That judgment so harsh that we have of ourselves. (*)

Self-destructive behaviours, sometimes underestimated by society. That they are regarded as "whims" by those who have chosen to give up their sensibility, so as not to see or not to feel their evil of living.

You feel their rough and armored souls crushing your. Yes, because through you, they see their vulnerabilities, but not everyone has the bravery to open Pandora's box.

I tell this simply because I want to live fully, with my flaws and my weaknesses.

I tell this to see myself and to try to live that emptiness too, without pushing it away or filling it in vain, with unnecessary surrogates. I just want to scream myself. Maybe this will help other souls too.

(*)At first, the artist hopelessly follows her instincts and her needs, indulging them without emotions, just like snake's coldness. Then she quest for herself. She feels like having her soul "stuck into body". The void is so unbearable she decide to fill it with food, sex, alcohol, and the anger raise and with this anger she does not recognize anymore her mirror image. (from "Her Snakeness – a Silversnake Michelle’s album").

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