Bread sees the real me
Bread understands your mood movements, the tiny shifting grains of your day. It knows when you are pretending not to want it but it’s all you are thinking about. HOT BUNS. It knows when you throw caution and a mild gluten intolerance to the wind. Bread sees it all.
Does this straightjacket make me look fat?
It’s OK. You are not *really* mad at all. No really, come down from the ledge. You are just a little bit tired – here why not lie down here, yes on the floor, here will be fine. No one is looking. (Whispers: Just think how quiet the padded cell will be – like noise-cancelling headphones for the soul)
Well done you
You got dressed, brushed your teeth, went to work, called your mother, came up with a good idea, ate lunch, did a powerpoint presentation, decided not to have another coffee, made someone laugh, took off your bra, ate the fridge. Day done. Well done.
I can’t believe it’s not better
It’s great being a grown-up because now you can go to bed when you like, drink as much as you want (except hold on, no, that doesn’t seem to be bearing out), dance when you want (not sure that’s still true). No one telling you what to do. But wait, why doesn’t it feel like that? You are in charge. Aren’t you? Is there no one else you can talk to about this? Because you quite want a refund.
Life is tough. So are you
This is for the days when you are sick of shit being thrown at you and just making you stronger. When you realise that you have a ton of unhealthy coping mechanisms to unravel but hell, on the plus side they are coping mechanisms. You are coping. And now in caps: YOU ARE COPING. Hell you’ve had waxes tougher than this, bitch.
You might not believe this right now but with a little bit of work and a little bit of space and a little bit of time and some awfully painful bits, there are occasional tectonic plate movements inside that open up new neural pathways. And you see a hurt differently, or a past injustice and you feel a bit different. A sort of tiny Heimlich manoeuver in the soul. Nice.