As someone constantly working to repair her relationship with food—a relationship which, other than supporting our survival, is a manifestation of that lofty business we call self-love and care—I thought it would be nice, helpful even, to explore the stories behind some of my favorite foods.
The constant anxieties I’ve already been facing on a daily basis ramp up, increasing their volume just enough so that the struggle is noticeably worse. I’m not eating less now, only beating myself up more for what I do consume.
Q: What were you doing at midnight last night?
A: GETTING INTO BED LIKE THE DIRTY GIRL I AM.
Because I have writer’s block and surveys are fun!
Taylor Swift jokes aside, I find my sartorial cravings this fall heavily inclined towards anything red. Bright yet deep—reds you can’t miss, reds you can’t write off as maroon or burgundy—no, RED.
A list of people I do not trust, some more valid than others.
This book doesn’t hate men, but it knows they’re flawed—it knows that our world, and its system of privileges, is wholly warped…that it continues to need fixing
Exhaustion and indulgence do not make other people “bad,” so why must I color them that way for myself? This is what’s at my core these days, the question I can’t fully kick.
Hasty exchanges at the nail salon over who to go to prom with? Bitchy girl talk overlooking the sea? THIS WAS LIVING, I told myself.
Anorexia recovery brought me down a few pegs, knocked me off my shitty, angry horse and helped me to see other people with a lot more sympathy, and love, than I did before.