A Spoonful of Medicine
-This entry is a little post dated-
I begrudgingly look down at the cup of fruit I’m eating for breakfast. I really don’t want to eat it because between the battle of fruits and veggies, I’ve always chosen my veggies. So while I imagine little faces on my fruit screaming “neener, neener, neener” at me, I know they’re the good medicine my body needs to be healthy. So I resentfully put the too bitter blackberry into my mouth, and slowly pick my way through. About halfway through my cup of fruit, I’m ready to throw in the towel. I feel full already but I push my way through because I know it’s an illusion. I’m about to start a nine our shift and I know what I just ate will burn off in about an hour. Besides, I just shelled out two-fifty on an already extremely tight budget. After watching my godmother and mother waste on food in a month is enough to feed a small impoverished village for a year (no exaggeration), I hate waste.
When my much beloved cat Spice died last February, the vet pulled me aside and privately said, “A sign of a sick pet is when they stop grooming themselves.” And I remember how her furr had lost it’s shine, slightly matted on the side. I remember the sparkle had left her eyes. As I sit here this morning, my body trying to gag on a foreign concept of fresh fruit, I thought, couldn’t that same logic be applied to humans? Is it really that simple, that for years I haven’t put much of an effort into caring about simple things as styling my hair or putting makeup on because I was internally sick? Besides the grapes and watermelon in this batch of food, my body is literally trying to reject the healthy food I’m putting in my mouth.
I think I’ve been sick for a long time. Like an ICU patient, I think I’ve finally been transfered out of intensive care and into rehab. The days I would take time to care about my apperance, usually fell to the first day my ex would be coming down to visit. Once every few months I’d get the urge to “doll myself up” and feel pretty. Shouldn’t that have been a sign? And if we’re going by that logic then am I starting to recover? Because since my early preteens, most of the time I didn’t really care how I looked as I left the house. I mean I threw my hair back in the same ponytail that I still wear. But now while most days I don’t style my hair, I do put makeup on and make an effort in my apperance. Does that mean I’m starting to fix the internal problems? It’s a good question.
I think so. I think when a person is internally sick, both the internal and external symptoms need to be treated. When we’re sick, we let ourselves go. We stop caring. We stop using over-indulgence as an occasional treat. We hide. From ourselves and everybody as well too. We pretend we don’t care. And when I say we, I really mean me. But maybe you too, who knows? All I know is that change is slow. Change takes time. All I can do is take one step at a time. I’m compromising with my body too. While it really doesn’t want to eat this cup of fruit, I reward it with a whole wheat bagel and a banana on my break. At lunch I pick up a turkey sandwhich instead of making a bee-line towards the deli and ask my body weither it wants a soda or a candy bar. Of course this is only just one day, one of my better days. But each day I’m trying. Each day I’m trying to get better.