You may be capable of shrinking yourself without sipping from the glass-bottled potion labelled ‘drink me’, but it seems misleading to imply that reversing the process is a simple as one bite of a daintily iced biscuit decorated with a swirled-fondant request that you “eat me”, and if Alice taught us anything it’s that once you tumble down the rabbit hole it takes far more than the desire to return home to haul yourself back out.
You’ll always choose the largest door, regardless of where it leads, to avoid the shame of not fitting in; your dreams remain shut away behind locked doors which you immediately disgard; doors perceived as too small through which to squeeze yourself. A quick peep through the keyhole; a motivational reminder of where you could end up if you continue to resist all those desperate pleas and “eat me"s.
You’ll stop receiving invitations to tea parties once everyone tires of tantrums over too-much-milk in china cups; or find you curled up napping in the teapot, too cold to stay awake; or simply become accustomed to your continued refusal to attend.
Time will stand still, all logic subverted as you run in endless circles in continued attempts to further lessen yourself, whilst visual distortions continually taunt you; mirrors deceptively transforming ravens into writing desks before your eyes in a manner which is not so much curious as detrimental; you’ll watch yourself expand until you are adamant your size mirrors that of a house, and the self-deprecating jury in your head will judge you as undeserving, a screaming verdict: guilty, of taking up too much space.
And if you don’t drown yourself in tears, you’ll soon lose yourself deep in a maze of numbness and self-hatred. And when asked who you are, you’ll find that words escape you; your identity seemingly another part of your disappearing act; lost along with the weight.
Eventually the stolen hoard of jam tarts will be discovered hidden under your bed, untouched and moulding but please-do-not-remove-them-I-need-them-there-to-feel-safe. Mocking chesire-cat grins convince you of the need to push yourself further, whilst focusing on jam-stained mouths serves as a reassuring reminder of your self-control; your ability to resist the temptation of necessary sustenance.
But darling, you do not need to paint yourself red in order to please other people; the colour of your petals has never defined you; the beauty of each flower is non-comparable to any other.
Wake yourself, before it’s too late to escape; because trust me, once you become immersed in this madness, you have so much more to lose than just your head.
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
amandla
