“Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and how I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be. And when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”—Andrea Gibson (via allthingsandreagibson)
“Sometimes we get sad about things and we don’t like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes, we are sad but we really don’t know why we are sad, so we say we aren’t sad but we really are.”—
Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
So I’ve realized that when I start feeling too much, whether good or bad or toward myself or towards others… I stuff it. And when that doesn’t work, I drown them. Hence why my freezer is always stocked with vodka.
Tonight is a vodka night. Happy early b day to me.
so now you’re about to turn twenty and the world hasn’t gotten any bigger for you. you’re untouched, unloved, unprepared. your parents still pay for your gas. your friends all have internships. one of them even got cast to be in a movie. you’ve got all this talent that you don’t know how to share. you just want to fuck someone, anyone, to feel a little less like an island. the man at the McDonald’s drive-thru held both sides of your hand when he handed you your change and you cried the entire way home. skin burns. you’re about to turn twenty and you feel like you’re fifteen. you sleep for fourteen hours and still need a nap. the world is shrinking one empty heartache at a time.
you’re scared you’ll never find anyone to love you, not even well. you’ll settle for anything.
you’re about to turn twenty and they never remind you how young that is. falling in love does not make you grow up, heartbreak does, and there is more than one way to fall apart.
you’re about to turn twenty and it’s okay if you aren’t ready. it’s okay if you aren’t ready. it’s okay.
“Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mâché puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”—
“BECAUSE being a hot fat girl is a lot of work and is undervalued or unrecognized.
Because a fat girl still has to pay more money for uglier clothes or spend 11 hours at the thrift store to find anything hot to wear.
Because if you take the elevator people think you’re lazy but if you’re on the treadmill people laugh.
Because men like John Goodman and Bernie Mac get to have careers on television but most sitcom moms of three still have size-two waists.
Because even feminist magazines publish fat-phobic articles under the guise of it being a “health issue.”
Because anti-capitalist activists still use expressions like “fat capitalist pig.”
Because girls are dieting at the age of nine.
Because side effects of the most popular diet drugs are seizures, heart failure, fecal urgency, breast cancer, lung disease, insomnia, nausea and vomiting, dangerously high blood pressure, abnormal heartbeat, psychosis, strokes, hallucinations and sudden death.
Because the Cooper Institute’s ongoing study of 30,000 people has found that those who are fittest live the longest, no matter what they weigh.
Because the doctor who said that there were 30,000 “obesity-related” deaths each year received over $2 million in research funding from Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers.
Because that study prompted the FDA to approve Phen-Phen and Redux.
Because fat hatred is a money-making industry.
Because fat people who exercise live longer than thin people who don’t.
Because if you lose weight ’cause you’re sick people tell you how great you look.
Because hatred is so ingrained in every single one of us, especially inside the heart of even the hottest fat girl.
Because even the most progressive people don’t talk or write about it.
Because I am tired of being ignored, invisible, de-sexualized and told that I have such a pretty face.
Because it’s not fat that kills, it’s fear of fat.**
For all that and more I am a part of the HOT FAT GIRL REVOLUTION!”—
I literally haven’t spoken to anyone in 48 hours, other than when I’m at work. Like tonight, I drank 4 beers and watched another 10 episodes of HIMYM. After, I ranted to my cat about a boy and got wayyy too sassy and asked her to pound it. WHAT UP.
Ugh. Hate this. I want you so bad. I want you so bad. Your body. Your mind. Your spirit. And I left tonight before I gave you any chance to break me.
And it’s messed up that I am so goddamn proud of it.
You know you’re officially an adult when you finally feel more at home in your own apartment with your roommate than in the house you grew up in with your family.
kinda sad. But also kinda comforting. A place to call my own.