My mouth has always and for ever been getting me into trouble. At school it was being disruptive (worksheets don't hold my attention well. Cooking up plots always does); in the real world, it's being, well, a cocky bitch; in hospital it's, ahem, aggression. I'm not quite 5'3 and not quite a healthy weight right now, so even if I wanted to be aggressive, it's not really my thaang. I'm all mouth and no trousers and I've never really been arsed about upping the ante, size not withstanding. I just get bored too easily and my brain lives in my vocal cords, a long way from my fists.
I keep getting into trouble now because I just cannot keep it buttoned. I'm more than a bit resistant to authority and although I'm nowhere near as resistant as I was a few years ago, I'm getting more than a bit sick of every bloody move I make being watched and documented (if I dance, I lose my leave. Seriously). There are eyes and ears everywhere in here, and it's all a bit 1984.
I spent almost 7 years in a house of domestic abuse hell and that's a lot of why, when I'm struggling mentally especially, I'm so resistant. Sometimes, it's hard to bring myself around to the fact that I'm now an adult and rules are about safety, not control. They always harp on about eating disorders being about control, and I suppose its true. Far easier to control size than anything else. The idea of anyone, especially a man, having control over my life is frightening, and being sectioned is all about your control and choice being taken from you, because you're deemed not able to take healthy control and make healthy decisions.
On the other hand, if I'm feeling somewhat less generous, it's not always safety. I keep mouthing off and being told I'm aggressive, a risk in the community and so not able to go outside. It's a crock of bull and it seems like a game. Either way though, I really must learn to shut. my. bloody. mouth. I've lost my leave 3 out of the last 4 days, and as strange as this is going to sound, I think it's a sign of my recovery. During the years of the domestic abuse, I never fought. I was passive and I took it. I ended up with zero self respect, because I daren't speak up or try to protect my interests. My mouth running away is me finally finding my voice and learning to respect myself, even though it never quite comes across that way. I've never been shy, not in the real world, but I did spend years cowering in the shadows at the place I was meant to be safest.
I'm finally feeling the change.