Destroying Magazines to Rebuild My Own Heart

My emotions have been all over the place lately. I’ve talked to a counselor, I’ve attempted to get lost in a rotation of at least four books at one time and even in my studies, and yet, nothing seems to work when all of my emotions and nerves feel like they want to push themselves out of my skin and just leave me in a heap on the floor.


Except for one thing.

I’ve taken to collecting random issues of Glamour, Marie Claire and even a Cosmopolitan magazine or two and reading them and then sharing them with my roommate & then cutting andtearing out random inspirational things that I find in the rags. I then proceed to put the emaciated models and the beautifully placed pictures and semi-cliched but also words of wisdom on the  doors in my room to serve as a reminder.

A reminder of how awesome I am and that my anxiety and weighty depression will not win. No matter how hard they try to pull me down.

I actually used to do this when I was younger but with copies of my sister’s Jane, Delia’s,  J-14 and the occasional Glamour and Cosmo. As they got older and started to pass the Holy Grails down to my other sister that was close to my age and I relished the days when we got a new “magazine delivery” from just a few feet away.

Instead of having walls and doors to plaster the beautiful pictures and inspirational words I kept them tucked away in my bottom dresser drawer in an old glass case that once held a shop’s worth of my sister’s makeup in it. They didn’t stay locked away for long.

When I started to get allowances, I used to buy a lot of random journals from the grocery store by our house because I really really wanted to be a serious writer when I was 12. I had a crazy notion at that age that if the outside of the journals that I hoarded were going to be beautiful then by God so were the inside covers!

I spent hours after school and on weekends poring over the glossy, sweet, perfume-sample filled pages trying to find any and everything that stood out. Thankfully some of the magazines of yesteryear weren’t quite as terrible as some are today and I began to find myself in between the pages.

Now, at the ripe old age of nearly 25 I am still poring over the glossy pages of multiple random magazines on weekends and after school for hours on end and looking for things that jump out at me that make me feel like more of a human.

Only now the magazines are inspiring and shaping my future and creating a sort of solace in hunting down those words and images and cutting them out and exacting the edges to fit in the front and back covers of my journals.

There’s something about taking care of something else, even if that something is as simple as cutting the perfect edge around an oddly placed grouping of words to size, that can make those of us that feel like they’ve been forgotten by those they hold closest feel like they will be okay in the end.

Even finding the perfect placement for the found objects in the covers creates a purpose that has been left dormant for days, months or years and the pieces just seem to fit together perfectly, eventually.


One thought on “Destroying Magazines to Rebuild My Own Heart

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