It is early Friday morning – or late Thursday night. The clock reads 12:50 AM and I decide now is as good a time as any to brush my teeth.
I don’t do so idly. I pace the length of the bathroom, thinking about the big red zit on my nose, about downloading the WordPress app so I don’t have to note my thoughts down blindly in my diary, in the dark of my room, illuminated only by the screen of my phone so as to not disturb my sleeping sister. I think about words I havr uttered recently that I should have kept to myself, and the consequences that could arise because of my carelessness. I’d rather think about that, about anything else, everything else, if it means I can ignore the feeling in my chest, pressing heavy against my lungs, that is too reminiscent of a past, broken self I spent so long – too long – fixing.
I am disgustingly bitter, knowing that my former…the person who had once, twice, thrice broken my heart – this person is doing what I wish to be doing: practicing a better routine, and being active in transforming this body into something better?
It is such a trivial concern of mine, and yet, I am angry, because I do not feel like I am achieving what we sought out to do – exercise, be healthy – and she is capable of it. I am angry, and petty, and wonder how to turn this bitterness into motivation.