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sadoeuphemist90% of self-care is just convincing yourself that you want to do things. That you want to eat, that you want to sleep, that you want your life to continue as normal. That you want to be here. That you want to be somewhere else.
Convince yourself that you want to start a diet, that your flesh is bagging, slumping, bunching, ballooning out around your waist, that you are sloppy and slovenly in the mirror, and that you would do anything to make the bloat around your belly disappear. Convince yourself that you want to be fit, and that not eating is a step towards fitness. This is discipline, isn't it? The regimented denial of the flesh, the conviction to withhold the stuff of life. Convince yourself that hunger pangs are normal, that you should never eat to satiation, that the human body as a machine is designed to be emptied and emptied and always just on the verge of hunger. Or, convince yourself that you want to eat endlessly, indiscriminately, constantly nibbling on anything and everything. Convince yourself that this is what counts as pleasure, the repeated succumbing to impulse, desire as separated from need. Convince yourself that those calories don't matter, that you have hovered around the same weight, the same physique, for as long as you can remember, that another square of chocolate or spoonful of gravy or just another bite of food amounts to nothing but the pleasure of eating it. Convince yourself that you are a civilized human being in no danger of starvation, and that eating or not eating has never revolved around hunger either way.
Convince yourself that you want to sleep, that you're exhausted, that the lack of sleep is going to bore through your brain and wriggle down your nerves and send your heartbeat trembling in irregular pulses, that you're going to die if you can't sleep tonight, that you're going to go mad if you can't sleep tonight, that you're going to put a bullet in your brain if you can't go to sleep. Convince yourself that your insomnia is self-inflicted, that if you don't think about it - that if the thought never occurred to you to begin with - you would naturally pass out at the end of the day. Convince yourself that you are killing yourself, one day at time, that you will have to bash your brains in, render yourself insensate if this is ever going to stop. Or, convince yourself that you are fine being awake, that lying in bed for hours, drifting back and forth from consciousness counts as rest, counts as a semi-lucid dream state that fulfills the need for sleep. Convince yourself that you think better in half-waking states, that your dreams and thoughts are freer, more vivid, that you would never be as uninhibited fully wake. Convince yourself that there's no need or pressure to sleep, that your brain will periodically shut down throughout the day regardless and you will continue as normal, as if nothing at all is wrong. Convince yourself that your normal waking hours are filled with tedium and sloth, as if you were barely conscious to begin with, that there is no difference at all between being awake and sleeping.
Convince yourself that you one again want to wash your face, your hands, that the oily, gummy coating of sebum coats your keyboard and your fingers and your forehead and everything that you touch. Convince yourself that you want to shit your guts out under a controlled scenario, that you want to be empty, purged, scoured clean before you venture out into the world. Convince yourself that you want to cut your nails down to the quick, that you want to peel off your dead skin, that you want to cut off the uneven patches of hair on your head, that if you just scrub enough, scour enough, cut off enough dead weight, there will be an example of purity underneath. Or, convince yourself of the value of inertia, that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't matter. That you can grow your nails long. That you can not bathe. That you can not wash your hands every five minutes. That you can shovel food in your mouth with your filthy unwashed hands, that you can eat the dead bacteria that coat every surface and it won't matter, it won't matter, it won't matter. Convince yourself that you can lie in bed unwashed, that you can reuse your towels and blankets and bedsheets until they are stained through, convince yourself that the world is an extension of yourself and your secretions, that there is no use being clean, that the air itself is just a miasma of dead skin cells and saliva particulates and filth.
Convince yourself that attachment is affection, that by simply following strangers over the internet you can establish a relationship. Convince yourself that your habits, that your established routines, have become precious to you over time, and that you will whine and squirm and claw against any attempts to disrupt you. Convince yourself that you were happy, or if not happy, at least indefinitely sustainable. Convince yourself that you would do anything to be left alone, as you are, that you will self-destruct if forced to change and they'll all be sorry afterwards. Or, convince yourself that you were unhappy to begin with, that your life was tedious empty misery, that abrupt change is your only hope for satisfaction.Convince yourself that you have been wasting your time on things that don't matter, hollow simulacra of companionship and affection, that you could abandon all the personalities you follow online and come away no poorer. Convince yourself that you need to leave, that you need to abandon the ramshackle construction of your life, that you need to be empty and hollow and groping and cold and thrust into a strange place if you are ever to find anything that you need.
Convince yourself that there is some pathology in you, some impulse incompatible with living, that must be unspooled and laid out in words; convince yourself that you feel better by the examination of it. Convince yourself that you are miserable, dysfunctional, and that this deviation from the norm is worth recording. Write down every thought that flits across your mind and convince yourself that this counts as productivity, that there is something inherently compelling about your thoughts, if arranged nicely, that there is an ultimate end to this, that you will know when you are finished. Or, convince yourself that this is all flourishes, all dramatization, all an elaborate attempt to seem interesting, if only to yourself. Convince yourself that you are fine, that you have always been fine, that you will be fine going forward into the future, indefinitely. Convince yourself that everything you write is a fiction, a pleasant, pretentious fiction, with no greater significance or meaning behind it. Convince yourself that your best writing is on random topics, unplanned bursts of inspiration, subjects that you personally care nothing about.
90% of self-care is simple. Just act as though you want things. It's as simple as that
Convince yourself that you want to start a diet, that your flesh is bagging, slumping, bunching, ballooning out around your waist, that you are sloppy and slovenly in the mirror, and that you would do anything to make the bloat around your belly disappear. Convince yourself that you want to be fit, and that not eating is a step towards fitness. This is discipline, isn't it? The regimented denial of the flesh, the conviction to withhold the stuff of life. Convince yourself that hunger pangs are normal, that you should never eat to satiation, that the human body as a machine is designed to be emptied and emptied and always just on the verge of hunger. Or, convince yourself that you want to eat endlessly, indiscriminately, constantly nibbling on anything and everything. Convince yourself that this is what counts as pleasure, the repeated succumbing to impulse, desire as separated from need. Convince yourself that those calories don't matter, that you have hovered around the same weight, the same physique, for as long as you can remember, that another square of chocolate or spoonful of gravy or just another bite of food amounts to nothing but the pleasure of eating it. Convince yourself that you are a civilized human being in no danger of starvation, and that eating or not eating has never revolved around hunger either way.
Convince yourself that you want to sleep, that you're exhausted, that the lack of sleep is going to bore through your brain and wriggle down your nerves and send your heartbeat trembling in irregular pulses, that you're going to die if you can't sleep tonight, that you're going to go mad if you can't sleep tonight, that you're going to put a bullet in your brain if you can't go to sleep. Convince yourself that your insomnia is self-inflicted, that if you don't think about it - that if the thought never occurred to you to begin with - you would naturally pass out at the end of the day. Convince yourself that you are killing yourself, one day at time, that you will have to bash your brains in, render yourself insensate if this is ever going to stop. Or, convince yourself that you are fine being awake, that lying in bed for hours, drifting back and forth from consciousness counts as rest, counts as a semi-lucid dream state that fulfills the need for sleep. Convince yourself that you think better in half-waking states, that your dreams and thoughts are freer, more vivid, that you would never be as uninhibited fully wake. Convince yourself that there's no need or pressure to sleep, that your brain will periodically shut down throughout the day regardless and you will continue as normal, as if nothing at all is wrong. Convince yourself that your normal waking hours are filled with tedium and sloth, as if you were barely conscious to begin with, that there is no difference at all between being awake and sleeping.
Convince yourself that you one again want to wash your face, your hands, that the oily, gummy coating of sebum coats your keyboard and your fingers and your forehead and everything that you touch. Convince yourself that you want to shit your guts out under a controlled scenario, that you want to be empty, purged, scoured clean before you venture out into the world. Convince yourself that you want to cut your nails down to the quick, that you want to peel off your dead skin, that you want to cut off the uneven patches of hair on your head, that if you just scrub enough, scour enough, cut off enough dead weight, there will be an example of purity underneath. Or, convince yourself of the value of inertia, that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't matter. That you can grow your nails long. That you can not bathe. That you can not wash your hands every five minutes. That you can shovel food in your mouth with your filthy unwashed hands, that you can eat the dead bacteria that coat every surface and it won't matter, it won't matter, it won't matter. Convince yourself that you can lie in bed unwashed, that you can reuse your towels and blankets and bedsheets until they are stained through, convince yourself that the world is an extension of yourself and your secretions, that there is no use being clean, that the air itself is just a miasma of dead skin cells and saliva particulates and filth.
Convince yourself that attachment is affection, that by simply following strangers over the internet you can establish a relationship. Convince yourself that your habits, that your established routines, have become precious to you over time, and that you will whine and squirm and claw against any attempts to disrupt you. Convince yourself that you were happy, or if not happy, at least indefinitely sustainable. Convince yourself that you would do anything to be left alone, as you are, that you will self-destruct if forced to change and they'll all be sorry afterwards. Or, convince yourself that you were unhappy to begin with, that your life was tedious empty misery, that abrupt change is your only hope for satisfaction.Convince yourself that you have been wasting your time on things that don't matter, hollow simulacra of companionship and affection, that you could abandon all the personalities you follow online and come away no poorer. Convince yourself that you need to leave, that you need to abandon the ramshackle construction of your life, that you need to be empty and hollow and groping and cold and thrust into a strange place if you are ever to find anything that you need.
Convince yourself that there is some pathology in you, some impulse incompatible with living, that must be unspooled and laid out in words; convince yourself that you feel better by the examination of it. Convince yourself that you are miserable, dysfunctional, and that this deviation from the norm is worth recording. Write down every thought that flits across your mind and convince yourself that this counts as productivity, that there is something inherently compelling about your thoughts, if arranged nicely, that there is an ultimate end to this, that you will know when you are finished. Or, convince yourself that this is all flourishes, all dramatization, all an elaborate attempt to seem interesting, if only to yourself. Convince yourself that you are fine, that you have always been fine, that you will be fine going forward into the future, indefinitely. Convince yourself that everything you write is a fiction, a pleasant, pretentious fiction, with no greater significance or meaning behind it. Convince yourself that your best writing is on random topics, unplanned bursts of inspiration, subjects that you personally care nothing about.
Convince yourself that the world is going to tear itself apart. Convince yourself that nothing will change. Convince yourself that you are going to kill yourself if this continues. Convince yourself that you are fine, and that you could keep on this way forever.
90% of self-care is simple. Just act as though you want things. It's as simple as that
