Seeking Home #FreeYourBody

Cloudy Days, Grumpy Nights.......

The lovely Ernestine at top!!!

 ' Trust takes years to build, Seconds to break and Forever to repair'- Tumblr

                             Chapter :
                               ~ |3| ~

The creak of the door opening resonated among the walls of my house hold. The already saddening colors of cloudy blue covering the enclosure of the foyer, becoming a shade more gloomier than before. Making my 'oh so sweet home' a scene of depression.

Oh how chipper!, I thought. Ascending the slight spiral stair case. Taking light steps to not awaken any living thing here. The irony clashes with my already foul mood.

Rounding the corner of the railing towards my room. The long lost family photos covering the pale blue wall's. On each picture, I see myself with a forced smile, all primmed and proper. My eyes always stone cold, with no glimmer of joy. Just dull and lifeless in a light brown shade.

I round another corner, then hitch left to where my door is. Opening it to get in, closing it shut once inside.

Throwing my backpack on the wheelchair, I settle down on the floor. Toying with the fuzzy texture of my carpeted floor. Staring at the loneliness of the corner in my room. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Then turning away in disgust for what I see.

Over the years I've gone to realize that I was no ugly duckling, but neither was i a drop dead gorgeous model. Especially with my body issues.

The bulge that was my belly, fat surrounding the muscle underneath my skin. My thighs too thick and my legs too chubby. My arms had a few stretch marks from the sudden gain in weight. My breasts as well, swelling with the added weight.

I'm not a pretty picture of the perfect body image.

A few tears trail down my cheeks. Not liking where my thoughts are leading to. Nor the lack in confidence for myself.

A stray curl landed on my face. I let it be. Hiding a little part of me, that I wish not to see.

My stomach rumbles in hunger. My eyes moving in the direction of the pudge there. Poking it in curiousity.

" Should I eat?" whispering to it. As if it were to respond to me. Only a loud grumble came from it.

Instead of heading towards the kitchen, I grasp a hold of my waterbottle on the side of my bag. Tugging it out of it's knitted holder, I pop open the cap. Chugging the pure fluid, satisfying my parched throat and grumbling stomach. I burp to get the excess gas out. With no more grumbles left.

I stay there for a while longer. Just staring at my feet, covered in a pair of stripped fuzzy socks.

Then get up and stretch. Cracking my back, shaking my legs. To get a sense of feeling before heading downstairs.
Again, repeating a light pace down the steps. As if sneaking into the night and ditching this house forever.

I walk into the kitchen, with "stain less" steel on it's counter tops. Everything in it's place: spices organized and labeled, pots and pans put in their rightful place, the window above the kitchen sink holding a few small plants, even the polished white floor had it's own dazzle.

Only if I shared the same appearance.

My dark gaze landing on the fruit bowl in the middle of the kitchen island. Each intricate fruit ripe in color and lavish in attire. Not a speck of brown grazing the skin of the impeccable variety of fruit.