What is Love?She sat there before her computer, watching as her Sims fell in love after gaining a certain amount of attention, attention that showed they were desired. She thought about this. That wasn't something she really wanted. She knew she was desired, but the simple words of "I love you" told her so much more. They told her that the person's heart was there, that they found their life to be with her. That was much better than simply having someone kiss you a certain way, or reach out and touch her cheek softly.
Love was something you fought for, something you worked on even during the worst of times because the person you love will always be there for you. She knew that was how it was. Her parents were like that, though she never really talked about it with so many other events that left more of a dent.
She knew that if something was true, you wouldn't try to preserve the relationship by dropping it, you would work on the matters tog
anorexia nervosa. _part one a.anorexia nervosa. _part one6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
There is something you should know about me, before we begin:
I have anorexia nervosa.
The denial was thick.
Anorexics, I believed, were skinny girls with even skinnier bones, combing their falling-out hair against mirrors where they appear as a sliver of a profiled coin, dying as the air beats them and hating their folded-paper bodies. Anorexics, I thought, had to be girls who achieve your standard perfect grades and are incredibly athletically-gifted, all the while going on zero calories for days at a time. Anorexics were built of disgusted strength, sickened determination, and a muddied line between self-preservation and -sacrifice. Anorexics were withered girls on billboards, stealing the sun from the beads of the sky laid before them, pressing it into their arms, and yet somehow taking no pigment with them.
I was notand am, I am not, I am not I am not I am notone of theseone of t
anorexia nervosa. _part two o.anorexia nervosa. _part two6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I lean back against the rim of my bed and dig my feet as far into the floor as the carpet will allow. The panic leaves me like an ocean wave, scraping up against the sand of my head and leaving me breathless. I want to hurt something. My arms settle neatly around the other, touching on my wrists, rubbing down my forearms, clenching my hands together.
Someone should have shot me as soon as I made it out of the womb, I think, and my hands settle around my neck.
Sometimes, I broke.
There were two months where, every Saturday and Sunday, I had Poptarts for breakfast, which is about two hundred calories per individual Poptart. There was an entire month where I ate ice cream every night. The second month after I had started, late September-ish, I found that I couldn't take the hunger for very long, and I would eat a snack before dinner. This ended in mid-October, thankfully, and some of the shame subsided. I
The Thoughts Behind AnorexiaYoure killing yourself. Youre not eating.The Thoughts Behind Anorexia7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Its funny how such unexpected things come from unexpected people. As my mother and I walk up the street together, me lugging handfuls of shopping bags, nearly falling over from the weight of them on my empty stomach, I keep my eyes fixed ahead of me: the view of grey London buildings Ive grown up with, swathed in November fog.
This is what I want, I have to keep reminding myself. My life has become a series of monotonous events. I hate myself for not breathing when my lungs expand, for not truly seeing when my eyes open, and for not fully feeling what I touch.
I hate myself for making her give me this talk.
Its long overdue. The people I know take their turns to give me these talks, but hers is the worst, because I care about her the most. Im letting her down, and if I dared to look at her Id see it in her eyes. But I hate myself too, and I hate myself for hating myself in the first p
Uncle DannyIn the Beginning, there was the Word.Uncle Danny7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
And some say that the reason there was only one word was because Uncle Danny got hold of the rest and God just had to make do.
And Uncle Danny had black nails and no hair, and he wore big glasses and a hat and a coat, and he walked around Copenhagen at night and wrote it all down on the cobbles, and in his head, and in his hat and, sometimes, on paper.
And Uncle Danny was everybody's Uncle, even if nobody could really remember why or how. And Uncle Danny had the Words. And the Words had Uncle Danny.
And sometimes it would be hard to see where the Words ended and Uncle Danny began.
And there are rules that say you can't start a sentence with "and". And Uncle Danny did it anyway.
And with the Words he painted pictures of Vangede. And he painted pictures of the seedy bars and prostitutes, and of the country and the land and the people in the city, and the people in the City became the people Everywhere, because Uncle Danny painted them all.