Sundays are for Self-Loathing
I do not look in the mirror at all on Sundays.
Every Saturday night is a hair wash day. Unlike the weekday wash days, I have the luxury of not having to style my hair immediately after. I'm not seeing anyone on Sundays, not even myself. I do not style my hair so I do not look in the mirror--I struggle with basic tasks. Brushing my teeth became a "once-everyday" occurrence rather than twice. Eating becomes a "whenever I remember." Sundays are for self-loathing and discarding this body of mine. Sundays are for "what-is-the-point-in-taking-care-of-myself-if-nobody-sees-me." Ten Self-Care Tips for Depression! I cease to exist when you take your eyes off me. The teeth-whitening toothpaste burned the edges of my lips and I had to smear a thick layer of vaseline under my makeup for a week. Sundays are for forgetting what I look like.
Every morning I put together a face for the world. Every morning I put together a body for the world. Every morning I put on music and let my heart-wound open and tear a slit down my torso for a new, better body to climb out and every Sunday I lay on the floor and throw up nothing. An empty well summons no water.