I have to address the lack of videos. Because they really were the essence here.
What if you can read Rain Robert but you can’t see her anymore, is she still Rain Robert?
Why is there no more videos? That’s the important, more subtle question. To which there is no straightforward answer. Making mistakes, not getting what I wanted, failing… Is that what propelled my future back into my past? Am I even in charge of my itinerary?
When I first started this blog to justify my actions, I spoke of a cloudier time I had overcome with said actions. Now I am again that cloudy version of myself which I had so proudly declared having moved on from. I have become but a newer version of an old me.
My body is my territory. Right now it is divulging the tug of war I’ve been playing with life and death, with surviving and self destructing. I wish I could create images that reclaim my body in this state, like others have known how to do, but I personally am not able to. My videos were not conceived in a place of unconditional self acceptance. They were a celebration of the brand new feeling of feeling new. They went away when my body stopped reflecting that back to me.
It’s really embarrassing to confess but I cannot save face and pretend my appearance isn’t the problem. Or at least, that the issue isn’t how I feel in how I look. How the heaviness and stretch lines and immobilization have converged to make me feel like I am old again.
The last six months, the last year and half, the last US election… It’s hard to tell when the falling apart began.
I lost it. I don’t even know what it was that I had. I just know I don’t have it anymore.
Love? Health? Safety?
It was the feeling of living inside my body. The enjoyment of my body not being overweight anymore. The joy of being turned on and alive in my body. Without that body, without me in that body, I don’t have the ability to make videos. It is that simple. It is that trite.
How did it happen? Shit. The ping ponging of mirrors facing one another. Situations triggering triggers, triggers triggering situations. My body protecting itself against getting re traumatized. Feeling re traumatized by my protecting body. Dissociating, shutting down, seeping further and further away.
I have spent so much time hating my body with a vengeance, the vengeance expressed as actively harming myself. My childhood and teenage hood felt like wasted years. It’s bad enough to not be fit. Feeling old when you are young is even worse. Like watching the sands of time run through your grasping fingers.
The drive I have felt to make my videos only makes sense when one realizes how much it meant to me to feel young. It was a revelation to experience my body this way. Pristine. Fresh. Full of possibilities. Experiencing what I used to look at from the outside. It’s not just creepy old men who drool at the sight of cheerleaders. I did too, back when I could have been one if life hadn’t turned my body into a battlefield of survival. And I guess I am again, as I try to remember how I managed to feel like one in that fleeting instant. If I hadn’t captured it on camera, I might have trouble believing it even happened for real.