February 2023

Maybe she should have been a bit more careful. Or self-aware. That’s what they call it these days right? The consciousness of one’s own internal workings. The why behind all of our crazy and erratic actions. The why behind the poorly thought-out decisions and ill-conceived expectations.

Nothing could have prepared Audrey for the disorientation that entails a love spell. It fucks with your head and not in the good way. See, they tell you that he’ll come along and save you. They mention the part where he sweeps you off your feet and every bad thing that ever happened to you fades to grey. They create this superhero who will make it all better and make every single thing worth it. Every bump on the road and pothole that left you with a flat tire. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, cold and wet in the rain.

“He was supposed to save me.” Audrey wasn’t talking to anyone in particular. Just her glass of wine and candlelit living room with only God and her broken spirit circling her apartment. It was in these inebriated moments that she felt most like herself. Most like the broken piece of shit that she was. Only she knew that wasn’t true. She knew she was good. She had a kind heart and a strong head on her shoulders. She knew she was beautiful and loved by her family and her friends. Yet still, this sick and toxic feeling would creep up. That feeling that no matter what she did, she would never be able to shake away the sadness. Everyday she would be reminded that out there, in the big bad world, he would never want her.

That’s a lie. It was more than that. Bigger than a boy (as most things tend to be). It was about the way she looked at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes and the fupa that was rearing on repulsive rather than sexy. It was the dimples in her ass that meant she overate and the scars on her face from the pimples she picked at as a teenager. There was no love in the world that could make her love herself. And she’d been running around for years wondering why he (any one of them really) had broken her heart and left. It was because they could feel it. She was desperate. Desperate for the kind of love that would fill her up and make her want to take care of herself.

She wanted someone to hold her and put everything back together but no one could do that but herself. So here she is. With a wine bottle in the fridge waiting to meet the others in the recycling bin.

How could she not love herself? How could she not want to place the world at her own feet? What was it about her that convinced her the only way she mattered was if someone’s son was whispering it to her at 3 in the morning deep inside her. To be loved? What a feeling. But to BE love. She might never experience that at all. Not if she continues to run to the first person that talks about her beautiful smile or the way her ass moves in a mini skirt.

I am so fucking tired. I am so fucking tired of my excuses. Of my self-imposed pity ritual. Of trying to find someone to save me. “I’m like totally self-aware” aren’t I. I know that I am the only person who actually makes me feel like shit and still I don’t really want to change do I? I sit here, thinking that a trip to the gym or a call with my boyfriend is going to put everything back together but this bullshit runs deep. I can feel it. It runs so fucking deep. Like I’m going to have to push my fist through my chest to get to it. Like I have to rip the skin off my body and grow a new layer to truly wash away the scars and all the bullshit.

— Matikudza Chiromo