I hate this place. I keep being thrown here, keep being locked into this cycle of wishing I was dead and not seeing a way out.
Monday was a nightmare. It was pretty frightening. I saw myself in the physio’s eyes and saw a has-been with no future and no present. I was ashamed of the leg that’s not the same size as the other one, ashamed of the knobbly knees, the bad back, the shape of my pathetic useless body that’s “out of condition”. Another way to say not good enough.
I’m under no illusions- she was trying to help me, trying to motivate me to realise the shape of my therapy with her to come. She’s attempting to push me harder, to help me achieve the goal of returning to dancing. She even said that if I decided not to, it was ok because there was definitely life after retirement.
Oh I know that. I’ve been there for the past two years, and it’s been horrible.
Waking up and seeing the body that let you down so many times in the shower, and hating it. Waking up for work on Monday and hating it. Waking up and hating yourself.