writer’s block

for somebody who wants to be a writer, i have a terrible, terrible, terminal case of writer’s block. i just never ever seem to have any inspiration. i am constantly restraining myself from writing because i have such overly discriminating standards and think i can produce something brilliant, and anything less is unacceptable. i’d rather have nothing than something mediocre.

so i have nothing. nothing to publish. nothing.

it’s depressing. i’m 18 and lately i’ve been asking myself, what the hell have i done with my life? i have a bunch of regrets, mistakes, all that creative fodder and i’ve done nothing with it. i had these wild beliefs i had the potential to be some prodigy. but nup. nothing.

so i’m sitting here listening to cajun dance party and reading this shitty poem i wrote.

grand plan: a suite of poem about eating disorders based on my essay i did for text and context. aaaargh even rereading the essay is painful. it was such a labour, a labour of love and emotion, i worked so insanely hard on it. i want to know what i got for ittttt. not that it can diminish it- i’m proud. i just want to make things i can be proud of, you know? i can go ‘hell yes i wrote that!’.

i won’t post the whole thing because its mine mine mine- i am very possessive of this little thing because i poured my heart and soul into it. i put myself in an essay and offered it to my tutor. it was even more personal than it is now, though i stripped it back a lot. a personal essay can be too personal. i learnt a lot writing it, a lot about myself. it took me back to places i didn’t want to go. back to days of such intense self-loathing. days of self-destruction. days of bullying. it was incredibly cathartic.

actual result of trying to write my poetry: absolute shit. ]

SO. a tinsy bit of my essay.

Plato inaugurated the concept of the binary opposition of mind/ body (Anderson 2008: 2), extended by Descartes’ conception of the supreme ‘thinking thing’ (Anderson 2008: 3; Barnard & Fink 2002: 124). Mind has been privileged over the body. The notion of embodiment challenges the humanist mind/ body dualism. To Maurice Merleau-Ponty, the mind and body are one; they constantly inform one another; thus, we are embodied beings (Anderson 2008: 8).

The eating disordered person represents the extension of the rejection of embodiment to the nth degree; a self that is a body and mind, inexorably split. Except, in a sense, that the body is privileged over the mind. The mind, the self, all the good attributes we can’t see because they are intangible are completely forgotten as hateful attention is directed at the body.

“Pro-ana” websites often have mantras that anorexic girls follow. Most of these tend to emphasise ideas of perfection, purity, and especially emptiness. As though the anorexic can escape her own flesh, be emptied of emotion and desire and love and feel nothing. They will, with their bones jutting out, their ribs on display, faces drawn, skin pale and thin, be pure in their emaciation, perfect on the outside (and then, somehow, perfect and pure in their emptiness on the inside).

Ironically, to the eating disordered their behaviour is a way of discovering bodily perfection but to the ‘normal’ person it is a form self-mutilation. “Mutilations… are dramatic attempts to maintain the boundaries of the body and the Ego and to re-establish a sense of being intact and cohesive” (Anzieu 1989: 20 in Connor 2002). An eating disorder and its associated behaviours- starving, purging- is like any other form of self-destructive behaviour and self-harm. It is steeped in feelings of self-hatred. The hatred directed at the body s usually actually pointed at something inside that is not ‘fixed’ so easily. The outside, as is its hides the inside; the self is body, the self is forgotten.

*

Cajun Dance Party: The Next Untouchable

I can’t believe, I can’t deny, I can’t conceive what’s in your eyes,
Another mistake, another regret, another unwanted cigarette,

And do you really like me? Because one and one and one, makes three,
If you don’t hear me, then why should I hear you?

I can’t walk away,
All I can do is say “better luck next time”

The next untouchable,
Feel her,
Move her,
Believe her,
See her,

And then it comes, I don’t know what to do,
Do I feel it pure, or is that just you?

She said ‘again’, she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’,
she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’,
she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’,

And do you really like me? Because one and one and one, makes three,
If you don’t hear me, then why should I hear you?

I can’t walk away,
All I can do is say “better luck next time”

The next untouchable,
Feel her,
Move her,
Believe her,
See her,

Forget her.
Forget her.
Forget her

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