I am broken. Well, a part of me is broken. I broke a bone (or two) in my wrist almost four weeks ago. I am amazed how this one little fact has effected my outlook on life.
I am broke. I feel broke. I feel wrong. I feel clumsy and stupid and fat all because I broke a bone.
I feel fractured – like bits of me have disconnected from my body and my psyche.
Up until that point in time, the moment that I slipped on the ice and fell on my wrist, I was doing okay. I was meandering around living an okay life. Even though I am not living where I want to be living right now.
Now, I feel clumsy and stupid and fat.
If I wasn’t clumsy, I wouldn’t have slipped on the ice.
If I wasn’t stupid, I would have stayed in and gone for my walk after the newly fallen snow had melted a bit.
If I wasn’t fat, landing onto of my wrist might not have broken it.
Because I am broken I also feel poor.
I feel poor because my clothes don’t feel right and my cupboards are bare.
My clothes don’t feel right because I can only wear about a tenth of my wardrobe right now. I had to buy sports bras because I needed something without clasps. The sports bras don’t support me as much as I would like. I only have one pair of pants that I can do up one handed and only about six tops that I can easily slip in to. I’m doing laundry every week! I wish I looked as good in my clothes as Lesley does (and while were at it I want her attitude as well!).
Dressing like this makes me feel how I did when I was growing up poor. I grew up on welfare. I wore mostly hand-me-downs that didn’t fit right. I’ve never owned a comfortable, perfect fitted bra. Growing up, I had only enough clothes to make it through the week before I had to re-wear something. Growing up, I spent my time fiddling with my clothes and never feeling comfortable.
Which is how I feel now – perpetually uncomfortable! I’m forever fiddling with my bra or pulling up my (too loose) jeans. All the while hearing those voices in my head, you know, the voices of my school peers saying – not good enough, ugly, fat, badly dressed, poor! Careful what you say, children are listening!
I’ve never felt well dressed, put together, and professional but at least, before this, I thought I could pass.
Pass as whole, sane, and middle class. Pass as the same as everyone else.
Not poor! Not stupid! Not clumsy! Not fat!
My cupboards are empty because I don’t want to shop for groceries. It is too much work to shop for groceries. I can’t buy tins; I don’t have an electric can opener. I’m not buying an electric can opener; I like my low tech version! I can’t buy jars or juice because all the lids are sealed factory tight. What do us weak old people do? I can’t buy oranges or bananas or mangoes because they are too hard to peel one handed. Plus, I really don’t want to go to the grocery store every week – it is too far and taxis cost money and I am annoyed! Everything feels like too much work so I am eating too much junk and not enough fresh.
This is not just about broken bones and lack of money. This is a rant about perceptions and attitudes.
I know that I am not poor. I have a decent job. I can afford taxis and trips to the hospital and even new clothes.
Lat year, I was unemployed. Last year, this accident would have cost me money that I did not have. Last year, I was living in the city I love with a grocery store and bakery within a block of me. Last year, I had a better attitude about my life.
Last year, I did not feel poor. Last year, I was not broke.
Last year, I was not sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop…
Poor, pitiful me!