My Life as a Machine: Reincarnated Machine

Since realizing how much of a machine I really am, I hardly looked at men anymore. Not since I pulled down a dark shade over my love life two years ago. Somehow, everything that happened two years ago seems like ages ago, and as the year lengthens, I realize that time is only but a strand that never ends. I can’t cut it. I can only rely on it being a constant, even when time decides to stand still in moments of desperation.

I was a jerk those two years ago, still fighting the machinery inside of my body. I was engaged and I loved the person I was with, but there were so many skeletons in my closet and baggage at my feet, I made some sufferable mistakes. I fell for our mutual best friend. He loved me, too, and I immediately broke things off with the man who stood by me through thick and thin.

Then, my conscience kicked in, and I just couldn’t choose. I made even more mistakes; I bounced between both men, trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings. Of course, I lied, I deceived, and I even went into denial.

But in the end, I broke things off with both men. Still, I tried to redeem myself with my ex-fiance, and I let him use me in ways that I thought would help ease the pain. He discarded quickly after grabbing ahold of another girl’s hand, and I struggled to keep myself afloat in the midst of my despair. I even told my lover to take a hike, we couldn’t be in love anymore. It wasn’t right. As soon as he found a girl who wasn’t me, he also threw me away.

Not that I blame them. I was the common denominator. After all of the drama, I was standing by myself. I suffered inwardly, and it began to show outwardly. My weight decreased exponentially, and I hardly noticed.

One morning, when I aroused from my sleep, my mother snapped awake and she groggily presented me with a granola bar. It was her way of saying–at 6 in the morning–that I was becoming a stick. In sharing a room with my mother, it was unavoidable. My ribs were starting to show and my athletic body was beginning to decay.

At work, one of my co-workers repeated my mother’s granola-bar presentation, but she was wide-awake and smiling. “Girl,” she drawled rather loudly as she held out the bars to me, “you’re getting too skinny! Eat some food!” Not that I was complaining, I loved granola bars, but I felt myself slipping into this void, and I couldn’t hear what anyone said to me.

I merely nodded, smiled, and went on with my day.

Of course, my co-worker, whom happened to be my boss’s boss, was also a friend, and the months that my curves simply disappeared, she persisted in proffering food and snacks to me. I knew she cared–I knew everyone cared–but the problem was that I didn’t care.

An epiphany came to me one day, and I yanked it into my mind with a vengeance. I needed to love myself, I realized, or else, this could happen again. I could push somebody away again. I could hurt somebody deeper than any cut, any slit, any sever. I could murder someone without blood by doing this again.

So I started to turn myself. As a machine, turning was easy. It was holding oneself from returning to the original state that was difficult. There weren’t any secret ones and zeroes to do it. I just had to program myself to re-screw some loosened nuts and bolts in my mind and in my heart.

It took more than a year to return to my original figure. The sadness inside of my body dissipated, and I found myself laughing and happy all over again. I never forgot what I had done, but I learned from it. I found the courage to date again, and surprisingly, people loved me for me, even though I was a machine. It wasn’t so bad, I thought, and I didn’t mind being alone. I was alone for over a year, and fine with it. Maybe it was another machine I was waiting for, who knows?


1 Comment

  1. Flash said,

    July 7, 2009 at 1:53 pm

    Great post!

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