This Stop: Funky Town

Written February 19, 2015

Right now I’m in a funk. I’m not talking metaphorically either. I actually smell. It’s been almost a week since I’ve taken a shower and all the things that go with that simple task (like changing clothes, brushing my hair, putting on make-up, changing my drawers). Funk-eee Town.

((gasp)) For the love of God. Seriously? GROSS.

I keep asking myself, “What is wrong? What do you need? What will make you happy? For fucks sake Leah, WHAT will get you into the shower?”

“I dunno,” is the response

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I get it together?

I was doing so well. Seriously y’all. I was kinda proud of myself. I had been sleeping well and eating well and exercising, and spending time outside and work was picking up and my kids and I were having fun and then POOF! I wake up one morning in pain, and I don’t wanna get out of bed, I don’t wanna do anything and I allowed it. I told myself, “Maybe you just need a day. Give it to yourself.” So I did. And so began the fragrant spiral down to Funky Town.

I dunno know what I want to say right now. I know there is something. Something important that needs to come out…but I can’t seem to locate it. Do I really not know or am I just bullshitting myself and hiding from what is probably right in front of me?

FUCK. I hate this shit.

“Just get out of bed,” I tell myself over and over. Eventually I do. I walk pass the shower. I pretend it isn’t there. I let my mind be occupied with other things.
Every night I tell myself, “When you get up in the morning you will shower. You will shower. You will shower. YOU WILL SHOWER!”

But I don’t.

I put a reminder complete with notification in my phone that says, “Give Leah a shower today. She likes to be clean, it helps energize her and makes her happy.” I think this will help. I feel good about it. The next day I see the reminder and tell myself, “Fuck Leah. Not going to do it.”

Whoa, this chick is fuuuucked up!

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m just suffering. Maybe I’m just mad. Maybe I am just in rebellion against myself. Who the fuck knows? Am I fucked up? Nah. I’m stinky. I’m lacking self-respect. I’m refusing to take care of myself, but I am not fucked up.

I have to believe that.

Just go take a shower woman!

I feel like I need to cry. I feel like I need to make a change. I feel like I need a fresh start.

You know….you could take a shower. That’s a fresh start.

I fucking hate myself. I am weak and pathetic and irresponsible and…and….and….

And NOW my computer is fucking up and I can’t type anything and I literally just threw my hands up in the air and starting yelling, “Why? Why? WHY?!!! I just want to type! I just want to get it out. WHY!!!!”
I almost started to cry. But I didn’t. It’s not worth crying over. I force quite a bunch of applications and type this sentence. And I’m disgusted.

I hold a cigarette in my hand and ask myself, “If I loved myself, would I smoke this?” The answer is always, “No.” The reality is sometimes I light the damn thing and smoke it anyway. Sometimes I only take a puff or two and put it out. Sometimes I smoke the whole thing and wonder why I’m doing it because it tastes awful…but I do it anyway and I wash the nasty taste out of my mouth with a coke.

Smoke and a Coke. That’s self-care at it’s finest.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. WRONG. WITH. ME.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” I keep telling myself. But it doesn’t ring true and then it does. I KNOW nothing is wrong with me. But I FEEL like everything is wrong with me.

I’m suppose to be practicing self-care. Loving myself. Being good to myself. Caring for myself in the ways I was never taken care of. Meeting those needs that spawn my fears and grow into the Bogey Man of my living nightmare.

I was doing a really good job too. I really was. For about 4 weeks there was peace and happiness and a light at the end of the tunnel. Then I just stopped. I abandoned myself and my desires and my goals and everything else.

I gave up on me.
I gave up on me?
What the hell??? I GAVE UP ON ME?

Enough masturbating with the “Whys” and wallowing in the “Shoulds”. Enough already. Enough. I’m never gonna get off on that.

I am going to take a fucking shower.

I am going to shave my legs and underarms.

I am going to put on clean panties.

I am going to put on pretty clothes.

I am going to go outside so the sunshine can lather it’s warmth over my soul and scrub it clean like a luminous bar of soap.

I am going to remember that RIGHT NOW I am alive.

I am going to remember that I am no longer Mayor of Funky Town. (Thank you, Mr. Shower)

I am going to remember that set-backs are part of the human experience.

And I going to remember that I am worth fighting for.

That is all.