(Or: At Home – Day Sixty-One)
I lost the plot and started crying halfway through an aerial class because I couldn’t do the things I wanted to, and it completely broke me. I can’t do some things (because I’m not strong enough, and don’t have the technique yet) and forgot how to do things I have been perfectly able to do (because of muscle fatigue and idiocy, which is easy when dangling in mid-air).
If I’m being fair to myself, I acknowledge my own weaknesses and forgive myself for the things I can’t do.
However, I’m shit at being fair to myself, and I don’t forgive myself for what seems to be to be crass ineptitude. I’m livid with myself. I am so fucking jealous that my partner is better than me, that there are people around me who just seem to get it straight off and I’m here desperately trying to lift my oversized arse off the ground with fuck-all success.
So I ended today feeling stupid, humiliated, and very conscious of my weight. Because let’s be honest, it is far easier to lift 100lb than 170lb. For anybody. Not to mention that nothing in aerial looks good on anybody with a spare ounce – trust me, taut silk bisecting your thighs makes your fat squeeze out on either side. Try tying a thin string around a raw chicken breast really, really tightly for an idea of how it looks. I’ve tried to look at pictures of myself in the air and all I can think about is how, despite me doing surprisingly complicated things, I still look about as elegant and poised as a rhino on stilts.
I’m going to go have a bath and cry about my insecurities, boys and girls, while restraining the urge to slit my wrists. #selfcare
I keep hoping tomorrow will be better.