The huge white sheet of paper is staring at me. I am staring back. We don’t have anything to say to each other.
It’s Tuesday evening and I’m trying to get my homework from the last therapy session done: A poster on which I draw the outline of my body and write into it what defines me. Characteristics. Things that are important to me. Words that are supposed to draw a picture. I got as far as having the outline – my partner drew it around me with a thick black felt pen without destroying my favourite pajamas. One would think that this was the hardest part of the task. Unfortunately that’s not the case.

I try to remember what exactly my therapist suggested. Food, I think. There was something about food. So I write the word down, after all I like good food, I’m pretty sure about this. However, I’m also pretty sure that this has to get a little more precise. So I write pasta. Because noodles are always awesome. I get ready to write the next word: Chocolate. Then I hesitate. Because there are days where I don’t actually want to eat chocolate. Most times however I would love bathing myself in it. Am I allowed to write it down now? Or just if I like chocolate all the time, without any exception? Would it be a lie to write it down?

Based on a case study I decide in favour of chocolate and keep going – the books, the music, the characeristics, I try to give everything I perceive as beautiful a thought. Everything that has ever been said about me. And there are few things of which I’m sure that they have an absolute validity concerning my identity so I wonder if I’m doing this completely wrong and am only writing down lies that aren’t even important.

Also, it would be easier if I didn’t have to write the words into my body because like this I can only think about how my therapist will analyse the places I write the words into. Do I have to write the names of my favourite people near the heart? The books into the head? I already have a problem with the word chocolate – it’s not written in the stomach. Do I have to start afresh? But that would be too perfectionist for a task that reminds me of the introduction rounds at holiday camp so much. So carrying on it is. Pushing the question whether all the different colours I use are okay aside. As well as the question if it is alright to write the word books in blue even though the written word is so wonderful mainly because it doesn’t give me the blues.

Fortunately I armed myself with heat cream and porcupine balls, nevertheless I slowly dissolve. Am so far away from my real body whilst trying to make its image on the paper come alive. When I start hyperventilating I know it’s enough. Self-care. Turning off perfectionism. Maybe continuing in a few days. Ignoring that unfinished tasks are evil. Half of my paper twin is filled with words. This has to suffice for today. And now I’ll get a piece of chocolate.

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