Who am I?
I realised tonight in support group – I am a limpet.
I am invisible, of no substance, unless I am connected to someone else. When I am his girlfriend, a professional, T’s client, I am someone, but I am an appendage, feeding off the central person. On my own, I am invisible. I am a nobody. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know anything about myself, except for all the evil things, and I think that’s why endings are so hard – because they mean severing my sucker grip to that person, and falling off and becoming invisible again.
No wonder I spend my whole life desperate to disappear, to become less – I am so conscious that I am always suckered onto someone else, they’re dragging my fat, oversized, disgusting self around. I’m such a burden on the people I’m suckered to, the least that I can do is try to make myself disappear.
I used to know who I was. When I was 16 I knew who I was. I loved having fun, I loved music and seeing live bands and wearing slicks of black eyeliner and kissing boys under trees in parks. I loved dancing, to anything, I loved bbqs and the sound of cricket on the radio. I loved London, had favourite haunts and spent hours watching street performers whilst eating waffles with mountains of ice cream. I loved thunderstorms and painting my nails and reading magazines in the bath. I loved falling asleep with the radio on. I had lots I hated about being a teenager but I knew my own mind and I knew who I was and who I wanted to be.
8 years on and I don’t know who I am. I am an eating disorder, I am trauma, I am screams and begging, I am blood and open wounds and blades. I am a client, I am a risk assessment, I am fodder for supervision discussion. I am his ex, I am a mistake, I am his past. I am rot, I am mess, I am vomit.
I want to be somebody. I want to be passionate about something, I want to like something, to have things I love doing, I want to collect memories again like we used to before everything got numbed and broken.
I want to know who I am. But I am so scared that maybe I am nobody. Maybe I died years ago, when they took all the life from me. Maybe all that is left is the limpet shell, trying to cling on but with no substance, so constantly falling off, being bashed about by the waves of real people’s lives and feelings.
I don’t want to be a limpet anymore.