Sickness

You spend all your time eyeing the meter as you go about your tasks. You pass people in cars with full tanks, half full tanks. They always miss the panic in your eyes. They miss the fleeting glances at the meter as you drive slowly, carefully. You want to go faster, but any increase in speed makes that needle drop into E faster than you’re prepared for.

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Our lord and saviour, Health at Every Size (aka, f**k diet culture)

Maybe some of that sounds familiar. Maybe you’ve cried not being able to get a dress closed, or get a pair of jeans on, or stepping on the scales and thinking there was truth in the things we’ve been told we need to do to ourselves to be perfect, to be pretty, to be acceptable. To be good enough. To be desirable. That all of those things were true and the only way to live, and the only reason your diet isn’t working is because you weren’t trying. hard. enough.

Progress Report

I wanted to write this so anyone who finds the old posts I’ve written can see that these stories can have a happy ending. Being listened to and taken seriously and getting the help you need is undoubtedly an uphill battle, but it is not necessarily going to be your whole life. Someday it could be something you look back on.

Review: Tangleweed and Brine

What if there were no happy endings? What if Rapunzel’s mother carried her to fill a cavernous void left by her need for fulfillment? What if the owner of the gingerbread house longed for something more in life, and built a house so she could help fill the hearts of those who felt as she did? What if the kiss that would bring the frog prince back to his human form meant a death sentence to the kisser? What if sister Fair tried to keep Trembling hidden to protect her, and not out of jealousy?

What if? What if?

Mornings.

Wake up. Take a breath. Slowly. That’s it. You’ve been breathing all night. Do it again. And again. You’re alive. Congratulations. You’ve lived to see another day. Keep breathing. Sit up. Take a sip of water. And another. That’s it. Keep breathing. Yes, you’ve got work or school or that appointment you don’t want to…… Continue reading Mornings.

On not writing, meta-imposterdom and being very, very tired.

My figurative anxiety toolbox was filled with tools for dealing with mental illness-y things that had no basis. Of identifying rogue emotions and coping. It doesn’t have a section labelled ‘what to do when someone close to you dies’. It doesn’t have a section labelled ‘how to cope when someone breaks into your home twice in a week and you’re home for the second attempt’. It doesn’t have a section labelled ‘actual life shit that the whole world is effectively ill equipped to deal with and so are you and that’s okay’.

2017: Sempiternal.

This has been a weird year