art by Tracy Emin
There is no pain like lying on the cold bathroom floor at midnight, you stare at the terracotta tiles through eyelashes laced with tears. Your landlady said they are ‘originals’; weird detail to remember while you gasp for air and cry into the toilet paper roll.
‘I love you’ you whisper to yourself, one hand on your heart. One on your belly.
The sun kisses your eyelids. They flutter open, you look directly into the bright white light until you can see tiny spots dancing on the inside of your eyes.
You know exactly what your eyes look like right now, even though you cannot see them. Like liquid gold. Dripping honey. You think of nonno. He used to call you almond eyes. He was the first man to call you beautiful.
’I love you’ you whisper to yourself.
‘I love you’ you whisper to yourself while waiting for the bus, when breathing gets hard again. You close your eyes for a moment. ‘I love you’. But you can’t get on the bus. Not today. Not right now. And that’s ok.
You watch the sky turn peach, that specific shade it only does in October. You always loved this season. Even though everything is dying in October. Sometimes you feel like dying too. But you don’t say that to people. They might start to worry.
’I love you’, your hand searches for your heart again. Deep breath.
You stand in the changing room and thanks to 4 mirrors you can see yourself from every angle, even the one you don’t want to see. The mirrors bring back memories and this dress doesn’t look good. Maybe it’s you, maybe you’re the problem.
’I love you’, close your eyes. Breathe. ‘I love you.’
The side of your bed is empty. You put your arm around a pillow and pretend it is a warm, human body. You are tempted to disassociate. With a small, but painful effort you let go. And a soft wave brings you back to yourself, into your body. Deep breath. ‘I love you.’
I have practiced this for the last five days. Telling myself ‘I love you’ at every occasion, but especially every time I want to tell myself something mean or hurtful.
I am practicing it mostly because it has been the only thing that has saved me. Unearthing the love I desire, deserve and want in my own soul.
Declaring yourself your own love is simple and it’s harder than it sounds. Using my own name in the sentence, it makes my ears tingle and uncovered new layers of pain I didn’t know existed.
And ultimately, it’s the most tender declaration of love I can ever experience. My own. Because it wasn’t supposed to happen. I was told not to love myself. Was told there was no love inside of me. It was supposed to be suffocated, shut down, stomped on, walked all over, spit on and killed at the roots - and yet here it is. Growing. My love.
Nadia, I wish I could hug you right now! Thank you for leading by example with honesty always. Thank you for inspiring me to be more alive, more intentional.