Aubergine

It’s an irony. It’s an irony how Aubergine has been my safe word this week, even though I hate that vegetable. When David Rose described how the robber at his store was wearing an aubergine coloured sweatshirt, in his own sassy tone, I picked up that word, and since then, it has been my safe word. Safe word to ground myself each time I felt anxiety spiraling through me.

Aubergine when I wanted to scream at someone. Anyone. To let out the negative energy. Aubergine when there’s pins and needles in my head. Aubergine when my feet cries inside the tight new shoes as I walk aggressively each evening.

Aubergine when I feel the fat in my body rolled up into flabs that restrict me from thinking of anything but a thin body. Aubergine when the blisters on my toes hurt, reminding me how shapeless my feet are, and how I have to struggle putting on those tight new shoes each day.

Aubergine when I can’t smile through pain like the stickers Anj sends.

Aubergine as I type each word into this block, hungry, for dinner, for peace, for calm. Aubergine each time someone comments on how my scalp shines through the thin layer of hair, Aubergine each time it gets too much to bear.

Aubergine when crying for thirty minutes and more didn’t help, Aubergine when head pounds really hard post crying. Aubergine each time I can’t draw like before. Aubergine at the thought of messing up another dish, when cooking was my sole comfort on harsh days.

Aubergine when I can’t find a new distraction. Aubergine when I run out of words to write.

Aubergine, Aubergine, Au..ber…gi..n…e…

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