I want to fall asleep at night with your legs entangled with mine. And I want to wake up at 3AM with some part of your body on mine, cutting off my blood circulation. And I want to nuzzle in closer to you and fall back asleep after kissing your hair. And I want to wake up in the morning still wrapped around you. And fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
i want a gay best friend. by gay i mean lesbian. by best friend i mean girlfriend. i want a girlfriend
I don’t think people realise how hard it is to re-discover the person you were before depression or even try to remember your own personality
and if you’ve had depression since early childhood you don’t even know if you have your own personality
you didn’t have time to be a person before depression
and it’s scary having no idea who you are
There needs to be a code word or something that means “my brain is fighting me every step of the way today and I feel like I’m going to vibrate out of my skin, so I need you to forgive everything and go slowly and speak softly and lower your expectations.” And then we could all just be like, “I know I said we could go to a movie tonight but… tangerines.” And the other person would nod and squeeze your elbow or rub your head and you wouldn’t feel like a failure.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
Ten Honest Thoughts On Being Loved By A Skinny Boy, Rachel Wiley
(I have read this before, but for some reason this is the first time it has made me suddenly burst into tears. It was #8 that killed me.)
You are lovely and beautiful and worth everything in this world, including the ability to breathe. If you feel that you are able to, I suggest getting rid of the pictures. Destroying them might be a good release (lighting them on fire, ripping them, shredding them, etc) but of course, if you don’t feel able to let go of them, don’t feel pressured to at all. Take a few deep breaths. Count to three on the inhale and five on the exhale. You are alive, you are a survivor, you are a wonderful part of this world.
I am here for you in any way that you need me to be. Feel free to continue messaging me (anon or off, whatever works for you). You will never be a bother to me. I love you and I know that you can make it through today, tomorrow, the next day, the next day, the next day, etc. You are strong and incredible. I am proud of you.
mosaics are made from broken pieces but they’re still works of art and so are you