Tread carefully

Here’s a rant. Ignore it, laugh at it, whatever. I just need to get this out.

This evening I was due to meet up with a friend – before I left, I was casually checking my phone, and someone had retweeted this really inspiration story about a girl’s who Mum had taught her that you can always leave. A job. A relationship. A conversation. A party. If it’s making you uncomfortable, or whatever, you’re allowed to leave.

It really hit me, and made me think about identity and boundaries, and about how crucial it has been to my mental health that I know, at the end of the day, I, and only I, own myself. The world can throw whatever at me, people can say whatever, do whatever, but they won’t change this little space that I occupy.

And then I met with this friend, and they asked how I was, and I mentioned I’m slightly ill, and they asked if I’d seen a doctor, to which the answer was no, and it suddenly got all heated. Like:

‘WHY AREN’T YOU LOOKING AFTER YOURSELF?’

‘YOUR MIND AND YOUR BODY ARE NOT SEPARATE ENTITIES.  YOU HAVE TO LOOK AFTER BOTH.’

‘I’M CONCERNED’

‘YOU HAVE TO GO SEE A DOCTOR’

Actually, you know what, no. My body is exactly that – mine. If I don’t give a shit what happens to it physically, that’s my call. If you can say to me ‘WELL WHAT HAPPENS IN TEN YEARS TIME YOU HIT THE REPERCUSSIONS OF THE DAMAGE YOU’RE DOING?’ and I can truthfully say back to you that I can think about that scenario and it doesn’t change my mind, that is the end of the discussion.

You want the truth? There are all sorts of things wrong with me. All sorts. Maybe I have some dreadful condition. Maybe I have many dreadful conditions, and they’re all deteriorating past the point of no return. Perhaps your concern about my health is my wistful thinking for an end. I don’t care. What’s the worst that can happen? Death? Fine!

I’m not suicidal. I don’t obsess about it, or anything like that. No danger here. Chill.

I just don’t care.

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