#I would be starving myself by now if it wasn't for my mom and my grandma screaming at my ears to have lunch/dinner

[hioitself]

I hate when my friends post those "this month is over, post 6 pics you took this month and bla bla bla" because most of the times I don't even have 6 pics I took in the month that are not me because I probably spent the whole month rotting in my bed thinking about the worst thing that could possibly happen to me in that state

[haeryna]

in my dreams you love me back (i still love you) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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summary: soft moments with shoko keep your heart soft as well, but suguru finds something that he wasn't supposed to.

tw: sfw but vague mentions of losing your virginity. your mother MEDDLES but let's be real, we'd do the same. allusions to the bible for the aesthetic but also because i like the imagery of the themes. not proofread.

notes: title taken from red velvet's "in my dreams." the second half of "i would give up heaven if i had to." another short chapter because i split it in two originally! banner from @/cafekitsune

"You look like shit."

You can't stop the huff that escapes your mouth as Shoko peers at you from your phone, propped up against your rice cooker. She's somewhere in the United States right now, attending a medical conference. She isn't wrong; your ten minute break in the bathroom had turned into a full-blown half hour breakdown. Thankfully, none of your coworkers pointed out the redness of your eyes and the sallow tint to your skin. Your manager had practically forced you to go home early. They all assumed that you had broken down about how the Gojo Satoru had demanded you be the one to make his drink. At this point, you were too tired to correct them.

"I just got back from the cafe, leave me alone." Yawning, you reach for a bowl. "I'm starving and exhausted, and now you're going to yell at me, Sho?"

You can hear the heavy exhale, and the camera blurs as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I never said that. Did you see them today?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nobody else can make you cry that hard, and I know it wasn't me."

You hesitate for a moment. "Mom thinks I should hear them out."

"Personally, I would tell them I'll speak to them after a down payment of 5k."

"Shoko!"

But your laughter fills the air, and you can catch Shoko's self-satisfied smirk from the other end. "There she is." A soft haze fills your screen as her voice softens. "Do I need to fly back and tell the two of them to fuck off?"

"I can tell them to leave myself," you protest, but Shoko gives you a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, maybe it'll be hard."

As the silence falls, warm and comfortable, you bustle around the kitchen, spooning rice into your bowl of leftovers. The air is warm, and despite your exhaustion, you can't help but appreciate the dreaminess of the evening. Shoko watches you, dark eyes unreadable. "What?" you finally ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Just be careful," she sighs. "Satoru and Suguru will probably do some crazy shit to get you to notice them. I just don't want those idiots to scare you."

"They don't care enough to do that," is your sardonic reply, and this time, it's her turn to laugh.

"If you really think that, then you're blinder than I thought."

He is breaking me down on every side, and now it's too late for me; he has uprooted my hopes like a tree.

When the number of your old landline rings on Suguru's cellphone, he almost blocks it out of habit before he registers the last four digits. Panicking, he immediately accepts the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? I-"

Your mother's voice chirps back at him, a bit staticky from the old phone that he knows she'd insisted on keeping installed in the kitchen. "Suguru, dear, could you do me a favor?"

Ingrained instinct forces a "yes ma'am," from his mouth before he can even process the request. He can practically hear the smile in your mother's voice. "It won't take too long, don't worry. My back has been aching an awful amount after my last surgery, but I've been meaning to wear some of my old church clothes to Bingo Night. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

The attic is cluttered and old, and the dust stings his eyes, but Suguru can't bring himself to complain as he begins to rummage through boxes. It feels like seeing you again, like being your Suguru again, as he unearths old photo albums, and stuffed toys. There was the rabbit you used to carry around all the time. A picture frame, of you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru one summer afternoon. Carefully, he wipes away the dust, smiling at the memory. You'd lost your front tooth that summer; now, it was forever memorialized.

Finally, he reaches a small collection of boxes in the back. The dress lays draped over a small stack of boxes, but as he grabs it, one topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Suddenly, selfishly, Suguru is grateful that Satoru stayed behind back in their hotel room, because inside the cardboard box is envelopes. At least thousands of them, crammed into each possible corner, dates written on the front in the same handwriting you've had since high school. He tears open another box, only to find the same. Three whole boxes of letters. Selfish hope and heavier dread sinks into his skin like the dust that is slowly falling to the floor; Suguru has unearthed something that he knows he's not supposed to see.

Was this how Adam felt, holding the forbidden fruit in his hand? Which was stronger; the will of God, or the love of man?

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

He's almost frantic as he searches for the first letter, scattering them around himself until he finds it; labelled a week after Suguru had taken Satoru with him to pursue what they had believed to be an impossible dream. Suguru hesitates only for a moment, until with one decisive swipe, he rips the flap from the waxy paper beneath. This one is addressed to him.

Suguru,

My parents put me in therapy. Remember how we always used to joke that if anyone needed it, it would be you? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? It hurts, Sugu, why, why, why My therapist thinks that keeping letters will help, and my parents want me to at least give it a try. Mom won't say anything, but I know she's concerned. Dad's already torn into Toru's parents, so the whole town is fully aware of what they've done. Shoko says that they're practically livid with shame, skulking around the town as that'll fix their reputation. You missed it; there was one night when the fireflies came back, and I swear they filled the entire sky. It was beautiful. It reminded me of the first time we met, do you remember that?

I wish you'd been here to see it. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to take along. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I love you. I hope you're safe. I hope you're taking care of Toru for me.

I love you so much that it's hard to be mad.

Water drips down onto the ink of where you'd signed your name, and with a start, Suguru realizes he's crying. Gently folding the letter, he sets it aside, and reaches for the next one.

Mom and Dad have what Grandma had. I'm scared, Toru. I wish you were here. You'd always say something silly that would make me forget for even a moment.

Another.

I saw you on the television today, Toru. You're so beautiful it hurts.

Another.

I've given up on properly going to college. They're so sick that I'm terrified to leave them alone.

More. More. More.

I try my best not to listen, but the radio in the coffee shop plays the songs you make, Sugu. I hate it, but it's selfish of me. The girl you sing about, does Toru get along with her? Does she make you happy?

He can't stop himself from reading any more than he can stop the tears pouring down his face. They'd missed so much of your life, and yet you'd dutifully written letter after letter, as if you'd planned on them seeing it. Like you hoped they would come back some day. The next letter was only written two years ago, but it turns Suguru's blood to ice.

I saw the scandal on one of the gossip magazines while I was out shopping for groceries, Toru. The Chanel model? Really? I was kind of hoping for the Gucci one, she seems so nice to her assistant.

I say this like you're a celebrity. A celebrity that I can just laugh at, and say "must be nice, having supermodels fall into your lap!" You were mine, once, long before you were hers. I love loved you.

I did something stupid, last night. Remember Kenji, from high school? The one you always hated? I can't even explain it, how furious I was, when I saw you with that model. You looked so happy, like it didn't matter that all your joy and abundance didn't come at my expense.

I ended up sleeping with him for the first time, with anyone for the first time really. I'm not going to write more; it's embarrassing, and it wasn't even good, but I think I'm more upset with myself. It doesn't matter.

It's not like you'll ever find out. Even if you do, it's not like you'll care.

It's not like my love mattered to you to begin with.

Suguru's chest feels as though someone has washed his heart in acid. On paper, the person you were after they left was more jaded. Less optimistic. You no longer spoke of things you wished they were able to experience with you, but rather all the things they'd left behind. You thought they didn't care, and as he forces his useless lungs to take another breath, he knows that he can't leave this town until he convinces you to come with him. As he stumbles down from the attic, dress in hand, your mother gives him a knowing stare.

"Did you find the dress I asked you to grab?"

"Yes ma'am," Suguru says numbly. It's all he says. It's all he can say. Your mother sighs, patting the chair next to her. "Why don't you call Satoru over, hm? Try some of the tea I bought. I remember your mother saying you only drink black. You really should call her more."

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

"I'm home!" you call out, slipping your shoes off with one hand as you balance the full bag of groceries in the other. "Did you take your medi-"

The carrots drop to the floor as you take in the sight of Gojo and Geto sitting at your kitchen table with your mother of all people. "What the fuck?"

Geto's eyes are rimmed red, like he'd been crying, while Satoru stares at you with a hint of anguish. "What the fuck," you repeat again, dumbfounded. "Why are you in my house right now?"

Geto opens his mouth to speak, but your mother waves it away. "You know how bad my back's been lately, I really wanted to wear that old emerald dress your father got me, do you remember?"

Stunned, you can only nod.

"And, I didn't want to have you come all the way back from the city just to grab a dress for me, so I called over Suguru and Satoru to help me out," your mother finishes. You can't stop the panic from leaking into your voice.

"Where was the dress?"

From the look on their faces, you know that Geto and Gojo have found it. All the letters you were too weak to send, too weak to throw away. How much did they read?

"The attic, dear," is your mother's quiet response, and when you turn her attention to her, you can see the quiet love and encouragement in her eyes.

What's more important? The love for all the things they did do, or all the things they didn't?

White noises rushes into your head, and you can barely process your mother's departure. Something about Bingo Night? The door clicks shut and you're left with silence so profound that your body almost instinctively crumples in on itself. Suguru can't look you in the eyes, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the delicate porcelain teacup that looks comically small next to his calloused hands. Satoru merely watches, but you can see the tension in his neck, in the way his fingers flex around empty air.

So, you do the only thing you can do. You run.

Turning, you all but sprint up the stairs. You lied. You couldn't do this, couldn't face them, see them, hear them-

Toned arms reach around from behind, pulling you decisively to a well-defined chest. The air is forced out of your lungs as you yelp, squirming out of the hold, only to freeze as Satoru places his cheek on your head, nuzzling into your hair.

"I missed you."

Tears spring to your eyes but Satoru keeps going. "You were the only thing that kept us going. Our apartment was so shitty, we had to put cardboard on the floor just to keep warm. I thought of you all the time. I thought of which stage outfit you'd like better, how you would get along so well with the other members of the group. We didn't forget you. We love you too much for that."

"Stop," you choke out, as your legs crumple under you. Satoru catches you, tugging you further into him, as tears trickle down your face. A blurred shape; Suguru, kneeling in front of you, gently taking your hands in his.

"One chance, princess," he breathes. "Give us one chance to explain ourselves. After that, we'll do whatever you want, give you whatever you want. We've only ever been yours."

[cherrysnip]

You were supposed to go to your hometown for the weekends. Unfortunately, there was a storm coming in the area so your mother, being the worrywart that she is, strictly told you to just stay in your apartment because it'll be dangerous if you push through with your travel.

And you did.

However, as early as ten in the morning, you were already bored as hell. You've tried taking a nap since the weather was perfect for it but it wasn't working, so you just stayed up and decided to review for your exams even though they are still a month away.

Moments later, you were already so immersed in reading when your phone suddenly rang. You absentmindedly answered it without even bothering to check who it was.

"Hello?"

"Did you just woke up?" You heard a familiar voice on the other line. It only took you half a second for you to recognize that it was Seokmin.

"Nope. Been awake since four. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just checking up on you. Your mom said you didn't go home?"

"Yes, I didn't. Storm's a bitch," you automatically groaned when you remember how disappointed you were earlier. You leaned back on your chair, "Why would she tell you though?"

"Well, she said her daughter might be crying because she's alone in her apartment right now."

"Stop it, Seok. I know she didn't say that. And besides, I'm already an adult. I can handle myself," you confidently defended yourself which made him chuckle.

"I'm sure you can. Looks like I have nothing to worry about then. I'll hang up now."

"Okay," you waited for him to hang up before you could go back to what you were doing seconds have passed but he still didn't drop the call. "I thought you're hanging up."

"I can't."

"I knew it," It was now your turn to laugh. You know he'd be saying a cheesy line any minute now, like he always does. You already told him that it makes you cringe but he still says them for you anyway. Because he knows that no matter how much you deny it, it still makes your heart flutter like crazy. "I bet you'll say something like you love hearing my voice, won't you?"

"You got me. I can listen to your voice the whole day."

"Well, Mister. You can't just hear it for free, I'm sorry. Your trial period is over. I'll be hanging up right now," you opted to teasing him, because you were too shy to admit you also feel the same way for him.

"Then how does hamburger and pizza sound for a payment?"

Your mouth automatically went agape when you heard his offer. You haven't eaten any breakfast because you were so lazy to get out and buy something. Plus, it's also near lunch time now and your stomach is already growling in hunger. Talk about perfect timing!

"Okay! Deal! I'll wait for it!"

"You're so quick when it comes to food, aren't you?"

"You know I live for it."

"Then is it me or hamburgers?"

"Don't be cruel. I never once made you choose between ramyeon and me."

"Okay," he chuckled. "Fair point."

"Did you already order it?"

"It's already on its way, Madam."

"I'm sorry. You know how impatient am I when I'm starving--" you weren't able to finish what you were saying when you were interrupted by a sudden knocking . "Wait, someone's at my door. I'll just check who it is."

You hurriedly went out of your room and it wasn't long before you arrived at your front door. When you finally opened it, there he was...

A guy wearing a black hoodie, holding two boxes of pizza and hamburgers in his left hand with his phone on his right hand, smiling shyly at you.

"Hi, love."

You let out a chortle and pulled him into a hug. It obviously surprised him but he still hugged you back eventually and then kissed the top of your head.

It was definitely Seokmin, your cheesy sweet boyfriend.

—♡—

[fatphobiabusters]

I explained to a fatphobe today the documented fact that has been known for decades of how there is no scientifically-proven way to lose weight long-term and that dieting doesn't work. His response was to tell me that I need to try for "longer than a week."

I did. I tried for years, probably longer than he ever managed to keep a single friend around to listen to his assholery. The only time I ever had any "success" had also been due to me dieting for longer than a week. Two weeks to be exact. Where I lost 20 pounds.

That's over 9 kilograms, if you measure weight that way.

I lost the same amount of weight as a watermelon. A car tire. A lawn mower. An office chair. The weight of an entire patio table.

In two weeks.

If you want more numbers, that was 2 and a half hours of exercising on exercise equipment at levels dangerous for my body. Every day.

14 days of a self-imposed famine. A salad here or there when I couldn't take the pain in my stomach anymore. And then, of course, going right back to starving.

My mom who had helped teach me to hate my body for not being the width of a pencil had even managed to notice how much weight I lost and how fast. She forcibly weighed me, not that weighing me accomplished anything. She didn't know my previous weight.

I saw my childhood friend for the first time in quite a while after losing the weight of two newborn babies in half a month. The first thing I asked her is if she noticed I was thinner. I had always compared myself to her growing up. She was naturally thin, needed no effort at all to stay barely thicker than her bones. She would only eat a few bites of food, slowly, and only if it was to her taste. For many years as a kid, she was the single person I knew who ate baloney, let alone as one of the handful of foods she was willing to consume. I grew up thinking thin people ate nothing more than a bowl of steamed broccoli for dinner because nothing I did ever made me as small as her.

When she told me she noticed, I smiled. I was proud that I had so severely abused my body, that I had lost an extremely alarming amount of weight in such a short amount of time.

The only time. The one instance I had ever managed to lose a noticeable amount of my body. My fat genetics and PCOS don't really help in that regard.

I'm now nearly double the weight I had starved to as a teenager. My story follows the research studies to a T.

By the end of high school, I had already gained back the whole 20 pounds. And after high school, I gained that "and then some" so many people experience. 95% of people who try to lose weight end up gaining the weight back within 3-5 years, most becoming bigger than the weight they started with. I didn't "willpower enough" into that 5% success rate. Abusing my body those two weeks so I could be an entire shopping cart lighter and then obsessing about my weight throughout my high school years wasn't enough "willpower" it seems.

I gained more weight afterwards due to medicine, mental disability, untreated PCOS, a pandemic, more attempts at starvation, being bedridden in a tent for two years, and my body, like many bodies, wanting to grow into those fat genetics of mine now that I was no longer a teenager.

I did, in fact, try longer than a week. Now it's time to reciprocate and try treating fat people like human beings for a mere seven days. Here's an app for you to log all of the fat people you didn't tell to die, and make sure you use all your willpower. I have a neighbor whose sister's boss managed to not tell fat people to die for two whole years! They're still refraining from doing so today. All her boss needed to do was stop drinking sodas and have the willpower to succeed.

Have you tried that?

-Mod Worthy

[iamamikcals]

I wish that I wasn't a fat pig that can't do nothing but stuff my mouth with food. I wish I wanted to throw up just by the thought of having a full stomach. I wish that my mom was as toxic as I'm with myself and let me starve myself to death while telling constantly that I don't deserve to eat. I wish that purging was ACTUALLY getting rid of all the calories so I could purge every time even when I drink water. I wish that I was so skinny people would not even want to hug me because they are too scared they are gonna break me. I wish that I could starve myself for days. If only I wasn't an impatient fat pig. I fail at everything, even in losing weight and having self control. I know it's bad but I wanna starve myself so bad that it hurts. I feel like I will only be happy when I'll be at my worst, when I will be just skinny to bones, when every single footstep will be a torture for me, when I'll not be able to eat anything without purging it in the toilet, when I'll be collapsing and dying on the floor because I can't even stay on my feet. I feel euphoric just by thinking about the day I'll finally leave on my own and be at my lowest. I'll finally be able to starve, purge, starve and purge again without any guilt, without worrying about the fact that my mom is gonna make me eat dinner, without someone stopping me. It is now me and my dear and lovely ed against the world and I don't want it to change. I want her to stay with me forever. I only want to trust her now but I feel like as long as I'm not underweight she will never be proud of me.

[inlovewitholderwoman]

Hey! Here's chapt. 2 hope you guys are enjoying

Again any criticism is welcomed

⚠️Tw⚠️

🔞MDNI🔞

Forgive the grammar errors

Just word vomit lol

__________________________________________

Genevieve POV

I tossed my phone on the couch and paced the room. Why did I do that? I need to cancel. You can't.

You should.

I headed upstairs conflicted and walked into my bedroom then into my bathroom in the room. I turned the water on and jumped in. How bad could it be. Just two colleagues going out.

I did my hair and makeup and stood in front of my closet. Should I call her? To see what she was wearing? Should I ask casual? Obviously casual it's a friends get together. Right?

I decided to go with a brown skort and a brown long sleeve shirt. (https://pin.it/6TkJ35DlX -what she's wearing) 

I put my shoes on and headed downstairs I grabbed my phone 8:03 pm read the screen when the screen lit up. It was like on cue there was a knock at my door. I had my bag cup and phone in hand then opened the door. "Hey" I smiled at the older beautiful woman before me.

She wore a mocha colored suit I wasn't (https://pin.it/6TkJ35DlX what Emily is wearing) dressed very 'professionally'. "Are you ready?" I nodded and turned the lights off she held the door open. I walked out locked it and we headed downstairs. She held the door open for me as I got in. Then she got driving "I was thinking about dinner and mini golf?" I glanced at her. "In a suit?" I cursed myself for being rude.

"I think mini golf then dinner" she slightly smiles and nods. "You know of a place that has night mini golf?" She nodded. Glancing over at me.

Emily POV

This wasn't a date. But it wasn't like I was going to ask Tara or JJ let alone Penelope how to dress. So I just put on a suit I hadn't worn in a while. I smiled as I saw her open the door.

Penelope would say it was fate we both had similar colors. Now she sat in my car. Her knees faced the door. She had her seatbelt on but one hand under her thigh and the other by the door. "Yeah you'll like it would you like to pick dinner?" I knew she was new in town.

From things she had told Penelope and JJ. She didn't really talk much about the office she had transferred from. We all knew she didn't really feel part of the team. I was afraid what had happened between us was coming in between the team more. I wanted to fix it.

I also wanted to act on my impulses. "You can pick dinner" she shifted in her seat. "Okay..." We arrived and I got out. As I went to open the door she got out. "It's okay I've got it." I didn't mind her attitude. I just wanted to be around her maybe talk later and address it then.

But right now I wanted to enjoy her presence. We walked up to the ticket counter and got two tickets. As I pulled cash out of my wallet I heard a ding. She held her phone up to the card reader. "I got it" she smiled softly. The lady handed us our tickets.

As we walked towards the golfing area I said "I invited you out...I would appreciate it if you didn't do that again". I hadn't realized I held her arm. She pulled away "look...it was an apology for my attitude lately" I let out a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry. Dinners on me..." She nods. "Fair" we grabbed our golfing stuff.

*Time skip*

It was pretty fun. She seemed to relax we ordered drinks and argued over who paid. She insisted since she had more. After our hour was up we headed out. I was sober and legal enough to drive.

We left in the car she sat her knees facing me. Hands palm down on top of one another "I had a really good time" "me too but I'm starving" she smiled. "Me too" she pulled her hair up strands falling into her face. Opposite from her usual perfect hair low bun style.

She tucked a strand behind her ear. "Where are we going?" She asked as I drove. "Some Italian restaurant I used to go to" I glanced at her and she rolled the window down.

Genevieve POV

I never had many friends. Boyfriends. Or Anything. I was an only child. My dad was a successful business man. My mom a politician. They never wanted me to work considering I graduated earlier than I should have. With a a bachelor's in criminology, masters, bachelor's, associates, a JD degree.

But everyone believed it was thanks to 'mommy' and 'daddy'.

I did ask them to get my record sealed off. I knew about Penelope Garcia and I wanted none of her in my past. So they did thanks to my parents generous donation.

And now I sat here with the BAUs chief. Nothing about the job intimidated me as much as Emily Prentiss did. She was the representation of a woman. Her essence when she smiled the way her hair fell so perfect and...she didn't dye it.

The grey suited her. I felt like I couldn't breathe around her. As I was lost in my thoughts fantasizing. Sinning. The car came to a stop and I quickly snapped out of my thoughts as I heard her car door close.

She opened mine. It was fresh outside so we weren't sweaty from mini golfing. I got out holding my bag she extended her hand and I grabbed it standing up. I quickly pulled away "thank you... you didn't have to" she smiled and led me inside opening the door.

We walked in she had a reservation for 2 it was 10:00 pm. We walked over to our table and sat down. They gave us water menus and not long after brought garlic butter rolls. We sat down and Emily ordered a wine bottle and two glasses.

"So...what made you change your mind?" She asked I took a sip of my water. "I was being unnecessarily rude....I feel like I have been the past few weeks and I'm just sorry...I really enjoy my job and this team" "it's been a while since we've had a team liaison and jjs shoes are big shoes to fill....but the team loves you I can say you've made the job easier and I appreciate that." I blushed smiling.

[mayrose713]

Just finished reading Beautifully Cruel World chapter 8 and I think it's really brave of you to take your experiences and write them just so there can be a better ending. If you don't mind sharing, how much of it actually happened to you?

First off I really appreciate you reading my story. Thank you so much, things like this is what keeps me writing. And I no longer mind sharing, why I write about it now.

So the parts that did happen to me was that because I was the oldest granddaughter (no longer am as I haven't had a proper conversation with my moms parents in over two and half years) I was the only one to do everything, yes even dust under the dining table, I know stupid. I would be told to do a million things at once and if something wasn't done fast enough for them I was criticized and made to feel stupid and less than. If my older brother tried helping me they would tell him that there was no need that I was capable of doing it myself if I would just put in the efforts. They never asked any of my cousins or my brother to do anything, I honestly don't know why I was the only one.

My dad did separate from my mom and marry someone ten years younger than him and I do now have four more younger siblings. My mom is an alcoholic and has gone to rehab so many times since I was fourteen that I've honestly lost count. She was verbally, mentally and emotionally abusive and was the main reason I wanted to leave in the first place but her parents did push me to the breaking point of doing so.

Her parents would ignore me for weeks or months at a time until I apologized for literally nothing. They would purposely "forget" me at school and would always give an excuse of being at my cousins baseball or hockey games when I would ask them if they'd be at my competition or dance recitals or band or choir concerts. Even if what I had was only once every few months where as they had games every weekend or if their game was hours before whatever I had.

The last conversation I had with my moms parents ended with her dad basically calling me a spoiled bitch and saying the family would be better off without me when I told them I wanted to leave everything after they had held me against my will. They didn't want me alone in my apartment with my moms roommate and told me to stay with them. After telling me I had to figure out things that weren't my responsibility and basically blaming me for allowing my mom to be the way she is I had wanted to leave. That's when they held me against my will. I had tried escaping and had ran into my moms dad during one of my attempts as he was blocking my path to keep me from leaving which they later lied telling the rest of my family that I pushed him for no reason.

My brother has basically distanced himself from the family. He doesn't talk to my mom and never shows up to family events. Before he only showed because I was there but now he does everything he can to get out of it. I'm pretty much the only one he talks to besides my dad on occasion. (Not his dad but my dad did raise him)

And one last thing, no they never starved me or restricted my food that part I exaggerated as in truth I didn't eat much on my own terms due to the things they said to me. And at one point my body pretty much shut down not allowing me to eat anything but protein shakes and salads for months. I have no idea why but I'm pretty sure it was something to do mentally, as several months after I left my body slowly started allowing me to eat more foods again.

[dadvans]

missing language.

if livejournal posts were still real. this would be it.

i started learning japanese when i was 11 years old, around early summer 2000, from my aunt from okinawa. she would practice with me in the gazebo when she and my uncle would come to visit for family reunions in the midwest, and would continue to buy me tapes, movies, CDs to start learning the language.

my school district was one of the lowest in the country growing up. we had a prestigious japanese immersion charter school, and after a disastrous middle school year, i ended up applying and being accepted. grades four to twelve. each year we were in different (sometimes abandoned or condemned) buildings up until halfway through my freshman year. despite occupying abandoned churches and gymnasiums, we had the highest test scores, and most exclusive college acceptance rates in oregon. it was either that good or that bad. we all hated each other the way family hates each other.

i won my division three years running for the oregon japanese speech contest through my ninth grade year.

i moved to japan two days after my sixteenth birthday. the year and a half that followed was not easy. i had a host family for a period of time that constantly kicked me out, starved me, and found other families for me to live with. i had another family where the host dad tried to molest me twice by taking me to remote locations. when i became fluent, really fluent, around the 6 to 8 month mark (long after i passed the JLPT 3 at the time, which is now closer to JLPT 2), after months of isolating myself in the computers at class to speak english to abroad friends for an hour a day, i told my japanese school friends, and they were horrified. they stepped up in ways i never knew. it wasn't usual for someone to be so forthcoming, and yet they all recognized it as an extreme circumstance, invited me into their inner circle. my home room teachers took notice and would take me out for lunch. my host family situation was codename ONI BABA, and even another family that eventually took me in would refer to her as such, when i asked if i could borrow her koto for a public concert (yeah, the one instrument it turns out i'm a prodigy at is okoto. Played my first concert at a local Obon festival within a week of starting. Talk to me about how Hana Kage is a fucking bitch. this version of 回転木馬 was what i was performing after a year. if you can find my old livejournal account, i guarantee there is a really terrible version recorded on my motorola razr still live).

by the time i was seventeen i was allowed to be on payroll to act as a translator for a month-long "jan-term" project with my mom in japan, where we took about 13 students across the main land. back at my american school i was writing all my essays in japanese, in the style i had been taught in japan (it was WILD to relearn how to rewrite english essays when living abroad-- that shit does NOT translate sometimes).

i went to college. i was immediately accepted into the higher ed programs my school provided. they were working toward offering a major, but only had a minor present. i signed on for level 300 with 8 other students.

the professor hated me. that is the nicest word for it. she would have typos on her quizzes. she would make fun of my hokkaido accent. but the worst part was when i was sexually assaulted by one of the other 8 students in the class, went to her during office hours to request that she not pair me with that student out of fear, and then she proceeded to exclusively pair me with that student on projects.

i was also learning i had a learning disability, but the student union health center refused to directly prescribe me medication for my disability, or refer my outwards--what happened instead was i was put on a prescription that had not been recommended outside of extreme epilepsy (carbamezapine), and when i expressed my fear that it was resurfacing suicidal tendencies, the doctor in charge doubled the dosage and encourage me to kill myself.

it was an ordeal. it was an ordeal that i documented. it was an ordeal that by spring 2008, i was accused of cheating on a test i got less than 30% on because i was so fucking out of it by a woman who would only partner me with a man who had sexually abused me. and when i confronted her about it on tape, with a medical transcript of what i had endured for the past year, i have a recording of her saying, "I don't need a piece of paper to tell me that you have problems."

Anyway, she went on sabbatical to adopt a kid the next year. Idiot sex pest remained in my classes, but god, he really sucked. I had to leave through most of my 400-level classes because I was working a lot. Most of my classes were essentially unpaid labor where we were translating books and providing subtitles for movies that were ready for American distribution. Half of my classmates my second year were born in Japan and spoke Japanese better than English but were able to cop out a foreign language credit, and they were honestly my favorite friends in the class, even if that's a steep fucking grading curve. Asshole teacher appeared once my spring semester, but knowing she took the year off, I actually completed my minor degree my sophomore year in early 2009.

And then I never really spoke Japanese again.

And it's hard. Whenever I'm introduced to media, I'm like, god, I forgot that. I remember that. I knew that, once upon a time. I remember conversations in English that weren't in English. And I remember when I was in my senior year of High School, I would be speaking Japanese and forget that I was speaking Japanese, that sometimes no one else except my teacher or friend who were equally fluent understood too. I miss that feeling. I feel shame, sometimes, at letting it go. I know I still have the pronunciation and local dialect, but it's hard to be reminded of how much I forgot.

When I started learning first, very close to when I was still fluent, Indonesian, and more recently, French, my backup language in my head has always been Japanese instead of English. My wife used to tell me I had a Japanese accent when I would try to speak French (fun fact: one of my friends in Japan was learning French and spoke zero English, and only then did I understand the horror of French phonetics), and it took me literally over a month of quietly practicing my R's in my car when I would get home from work for her to be like, oh you sound like a regular Anglo (read: white boy trying so hard and yet).

Whenever I get back into the mindset of becoming fluent in French (mandatory!), and restart the journey from where I left off these past years, I ache something fierce and weird for my Japanese. It is, surface level, a sense of failure. I couldn't hold onto you, I wouldn't have known how to try. There were obstacles. There were so many bad memories. And yet, sometimes I will be in bed with my wife, and she will be watching a Japanese show, and I will be like, "Did he really say that?" and she will say, "Oh God, I forgot that you knew Japanese."

Some things are bone deep and will probably never go away. I guess I'm still in mourning for the language that I lost as I continue to learn a new language. I want to be better, I know I can be better this time! And yet, I'm afraid that every step forward, I'll lose what I have of my second language identity. I have already lost so much.

[doberbutts]

Thank you for talking about the “able to get to the door but unable to stay inside” thing re:stimulation. My issues are less severe than yours were (creates chronic fatigue instead of severe meltdowns) but it’s kinda the first time I’ve heard anyone discuss them as a legitimate disabling barrier. I still have this “if I just try hard enough” mentality that I’m trying to overcome, and it helps to have someone else go “no, this is a real problem.”

Honestly the brain injury really opened my eyes because I do have ADD and had childhood epilepsy (been seizure-free since I was 8 tho) so we were somewhat conscious about sensory stuff but a lot of it was like. Okay every once in a while you will touch something that is Bad Texture and you will scrub your skin raw about it for the next couple of hours. Annoying repeating sounds fade into the background for you but God Forbid anyone talks while you're concentrating because now they've ruined everything. You'd rather starve than put Tastes Bad into your mouth and have gone to bed with hunger pains many times as a result. etc etc etc for me it wasn't so disabling but largely that was due to my mom knowing how to manage my symptoms and teaching me from a very young age how to cope.

And then with the seizures my major warning sign was a colossal headache that refused to go away which was a sign to go lay down somewhere quiet and dark for a few hours until it passed or else a lightning storm would happen in my skull :D

But the brain injury... that really upset everything. Which is commonly reported, when I was finally able to speak I told my neurologist that I felt like a completely different person and not in a good way and he said that most TBI survivors have said this.

Honestly the best way I can describe it is that. Hmm. Imagine... your TV is too loud. When I say too loud I mean like. It hurts to be in the same room as the TV, it's bordering on the edge of so loud that it makes you physically take a step back. When the TBI first happened, that was any and every stimulus to my senses. My clothes touching my skin was Too Loud. Tasting my food was Too Loud. The ambient light coming from my window was Too Loud. And so on and so forth. Because there was an actual damaged piece of my brain, it was really struggling to parse any more information than "oh, no, ow, make that stop".

I wore blacked out glasses inside because I couldn't stand to keep my eyes open otherwise. I would ask my roommates to whisper several rooms down if they were going to talk to each other or on the phone because even just hearing their footsteps was like someone was taking a hammer to my forehead. I was usually naked because the feel of my shirt against my back would set me off. There's a lot I can't remember from that time but I remember being so frustrated as I hid under my covers from the light and the ambient noise of living with a bunch of people and their pets that "trying harder" and "pushing through" honestly just made everything worse.

It's a lot better now. It'll be 5 years in July. But every once in a while something will still set me off and I will be back in that place, frustrated with myself as I feel my brain hurtling towards a Very Loud Meltdown that I cannot get to stop.

I just don't appreciate being told that it's somehow lesser because my legs work. Especially considering TBIs are so common, and they happen so fast. All it takes is one good knock on the head and then you'll be just like me.

[takami-takami]

Trigger warning: restrictive eating (medical), calorie numbers, weight, emeto. LONG SRY

I will say though. Now that it's gastroparesis awareness month! My story with gastroparesis.

Today, I ate a meal with my family. I ate rice, chicken without oil, and baked empanadas with ground chicken in them. And even though my mom had to cook me a separate plate that wasn't deep fried like everyone else's, I feel so at peace.

Today when I was at the doctor's office getting a physical form signed for school, my doctor turned to me and smiled and said, "I'm not telling them about your gastroparesis for stomach issues. You know where you are. Stable!" And I genuinely lit up and nodded.

There was a good period of my life where I was only eating 600-800 calories a day. I slept propped up to aid motility, I woke up every morning with pain and would wake up in the middle of the night. I had shakes and tremors when I took my medicine. I was tired, cold, underweight. I developed agoraphobia because I was so terrified of getting sick outside and not having my room to go run and hide in.

I had anxiety attacks about my food getting contaminated, and I yelled at people who touched or moved my food like a starved animal. Like, I genuinely felt like one.

I remember when I found the first nutrition shake I could keep down. After drinking one per day, I noticed I didn't drag my feet down the steps anymore. I actually did a little skip. And I felt so much joy and told everybody I knew, I can skip again! I could dance to music for a short amount of time again!

I remember how devastated and scared I was when Orgain changed the recipe to appeal to diet culture instead of health. I went right back to that dark place.

But I pushed myself, and once I noticed my volume intake limit increasing, I knew I had to start varying my diet because my gp was improving. So I dealt with refeeding, and it was hard. But I did it!

Over the past three years, I have slowly gotten better and better, more able to tolerate more volume and more foods. I stopped my SSRI antidepressant at the advice of my GI, and that definitely helped over the past year and a half. I also healed more from my trauma, which I do genuinely think helped me as well.

Now I weigh enough to donate blood again! I went to Japan and ate at restaurants! I get crepes with my sibling and the blueberries make me a little sick but I eat them anyway because I'm not so afraid anymore! I can go out with people to eat! I can eat with my family!!!!!!

Now, I just avoid high fat, high fiber foods and don't eat raw, unblended veggies/fruit. And I'm genuinely fine. I can literally check the nutrition label and EAT THAT NEW FOOD? RIGHT THERE? AS LONG AS IT'S LOW FAT/FIBER? THAT'S CRAZY!!!!! THAT'S CRAZY.

I'm just so happy. I have no idea how I managed back then, because I'm so fucking happy now. I'm genuinely happy, and I'm not in pain every day. Now I only experience pain if I eat something I'm not supposed to. That's so crazy. Genuinely.

I am very grateful. I have never felt something more soul-crushing than gastroparesis. It's a terrible diagnosis, and no one wants to study it because it's rare and a cure isn't "profitable". But it is a very, very painful diagnosis, and the suffering is real.

I'm just happy to be okay again. We genuinely need to find a cure because no one should have to live like that.

[cherryblack-n-navy]

I got this idea long ago (that I will never put on a fic obvi :)).

After the all Valley, Johnny actually properly apologised to Daniel and they became close friends. When they graduated, they were still meeting up (Okinawa trip forgotten-). Christmas was around the corner and Daniel was insisting for Johnny to come with them (his ma and himself) to new Jersey so they can spend it together with his family, and Johnny could actually have a REAL Christmas with a REAL winter.

Daniel:" you never saw real snow?!"

Johnny:" So what?....I've never travel out of California if it wasn't for one of Sid stupid expensive trip to Greece or France....{which mom insisted to bring me along.}"

He finally accepted to go with him and went to new Jersey. Johnny got spoiled by compliments from pratically every members of Larusso family (except Louis who was jealous of him because he was a big blond pretty boy so he didn't stop to teasing him by saying that he was gay for Daniel.....whish was not totally wrong-)

The person who was always with Johnny was actually Daniel's nonna. (Daniel got a lot to do to help the family around, eapecially in kitchen) She always make sure that he eat properly. (too much- really too much.

Daniel:" your cheeks became more round"* found it cute-*

Johnny:" Nonna don't want me to starve."

Daniel:" you call her Nonna now?"

Johnny:" she wanted me to, who am I to say no to a lady?")

The funny part is that nonna forgot all the time that Johnny doesn't know a word in italian. She usually sat on the couch with him and had her best conversation with a confused Johnny who keeps nodding to don't looks like an idiot or someone impolite.

Nonna: (talk in italian)" this boy is adorable, he always listen to me and got time to take care of me"

Lucille: (talk in italian)" oh really....*have noticed that she talks 100% in italian with him* {poor boy}"

And last think, Johnny, Daniel and Nonna went for a walk every morning. Johnny let Nonna holding on his arm and Daniel walking on Johnny other side. He sometimes slip and get caught by a strong built arm.

Daniel: "I didn't needed your help. I wasn't about to fall. *was about to fall*"

Johnny:" sure Daniel, welcome to save your little ass *wink, still holding him in case* {He is so tiny..}"

Daniel:"*blushe a little, pulls himself away and huff* whatever you say blondy"

Nonna: "*is looking at the sunrise*"

//I am really sorry for my grammatical faults. I'm still learning how to write properly in English :') (not like I was a head in french-) if someone could help me to correct myself I would take the help :'D//

[flameunquenched]

tw for disordered eating/deliberate self-starvation discussion under the cut. it is, however, overall a happy ending!

ever since i got diagnosed with diabetes in early 2022, i have struggled with disordered eating (not necessarily an eating disorder) and deliberate self-starvation. a lot of this stemmed from how controlled and restricted my diet was in the immediate aftermath of the diagnosis, in an effort to bring down my a1c as quickly as possible. my family, without meaning to, worsened this severely. my dad's wife has a family member (her father) who has diabetes and she has been working with him for a long time on his. however, her methods are incredibly outdated and that transferred to me in the form of severe restriction on what and how much i could eat.

my mom, bless her, was about the same way. for several months, i subsisted on salads (which i love tbh), lean protein like chicken, and eggs. they forced me to eat breakfast, which at the time i hated because i tended to get sick from eating too early.

all of this lead to, once i had my own place and was living alone, barely eating for most of the day and then gorging at night. there were days i would go hours and hours without eating at all, sometimes up to 18 hours when you factor in the fact that i was sleeping. and when i would eat, i begrudged myself every single bite.

i'm diabetic, i'd tell myself. i don't deserve to eat [insert whatever food i was eating, 'healthy' or 'unhealthy']. and so because of the fact that i believed that i wasn't worthy of eating, i'd starve myself. 'oh if i don't eat until tonight, i can have whatever i want.'

this monday, i had my second diabetes class with a lovely woman named zina. we spent two entire hours discussing food and how food and eating affects diabetes. i learned, for the first time, from a professional, that starving myself through the day was doing more harm to me than good. i learned that eating smaller meals every fourish hours or so can help kickstart my metabolism again. i learned that just because i'm diabetic doesn't mean that i have to self-starve in order to deserve to eat.

guys, i can't tell you how life-changing this is for me. i have warred with myself for every bite of food for years now. i have punished myself for every calorie. i've hated myself for every cookie or bite of ice cream or roll at a restaurant. but zina helped me to realize that moderation is the key.

it's gonna take time. i have to unlearn starving myself and i really probably am gonna need therapy for the disordered eating and talking with a nutritionist is probably a good idea. but i think i may finally be able to start healing my fucked up relationship with food in 2025.

[adaptive-dragonet]

Living without dread 24/7 has changed my fucking LIFE. I cannot emphasize how much dread fucked me up when it was practically the only feeling I had for weeks on end. I didn’t take care of myself, I just avoided my thoughts with mind-numbing mobile games or created an artificial moodscape with music. I didn’t sleep so tomorrow wouldn’t come. I couldn’t sleep without meds and music.

It was so hard to do the actual things I was dreading bc of my undiagnosed ADHD and being pushed to do things the neurotypical way was getting me a few squares backwards. My procrastination was at an all-time high because chipping away at the insurmountable pile of things was like wallowing in undiluted dread that I could be blocking out. People said “You just gotta buckle down” and I’d mentally shoot back “Into an emotional breakdown? Work smarter not harder.”

Then my lil brother got diagnosed with ADHD and my mom was doing a ton of research on how to work with his brain. She showed me a site that described various types of ADHD, and how it’s typically different in women vs. little boys. Always ready to plunge into a rabbit hole, I read up a bunch on it myself (something was resonating with me, which made me even more curious), and that made the YouTube algorithm reveal ADHD simulators and short films. “Wait… this isn’t how normal people think??”

Then I started trying more ways people with ADHD did things. I switched between the things on my to-do list every 5-15 minutes to keep my brain fresh. I celebrated every step towards finishing something instead of comparing it to what I had left. I listened to music or did a nonmental task at the same time as my more tedious homework, often both. I drank coffee whenever I needed adrenaline for a few minutes, instead of just to keep myself awake in the morning. Etc.

And it was sloppy and inefficient at FIRST, when I was still being clumsy with myself. But then as I started paying more attention to where my brain was at and what would make it get in the gear I needed, things started getting done. The only problem was dread had long since been a cemented habit. Even now that things were doable since I had the tools, I procrastinated and numbed my mind and feared that each assignment could take an hour of unproductive struggling with myself.

And then something came up and my parents and I had beef with my school, and they started homeschooling me again. My socially starved side was devastated, but between co-op and a couple other arrangements, that was taken care of. After a few weeks, I’ve realized… with the total change of system, my habitual dread isn’t triggered anymore!

I can sleep and wake up rested??! I can feel hunger?!? I can CARE ABOUT THE THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY?!!

Guys.

This is the best transition for my mental health EVER.

I had NO IDEA that the amount of dread I was feeling wasn't normal, until I didn't have it anymore.

THIS IS CRAZY :D

[breadboysteals]

TW: vent/ramble/suicide note/ there's too many damn slashes/bad grammar/ no punctuation: I hope republicans genuinely realize that "make America great again" means nothing like I'm not trying to start arguments or anything but it genuinely does not mean anything like when was it great because any time before now was a pretty bad time for America pretty racist unless you mean when trump was president but everyone was more homophobic then I mean we're not not homophobic now and it wasn't considerably less during his serve but it's not like a lot was better the economy was better during his term but that's because of Obama so it doesn't really correlate with trump trump didn't change things very much like every president now only changes like two things besides Obama that dude was a beast like I've heard he bombed shit and he was a bad dude but like he kind of fixed America for a little bit so maybe he should've been allowed I mean Teddy Roosevelt was a great president but he was a bit sexist but everyone brushes that off because he was fucking awesome god I rant for so long I barely remember my point at the beginning let's get back to that MAGA does not have any significance those words in that order have no meaning I mean you could say "America was great under trump so let's make America great again" but your supplying no context I mean it's just something that means nothing but is easy to chant like if i said "make gators eat taters" it obviously means nothing but it is a hell of a chant idk if it is a good chant though I am pretty high I mean why else would I ramble on for two pages hey if you some how get to this point and could read it even though I used no punctuation and probably a shit ton of grammar mistakes comment "make gators eat taters" and I mean republicans are really voting for likability and he's not even a likeable guy he's just a guy you know like voting for Andrew Tate like "sure he's a shitty guy and he's ugly but he has everything you could want maybe my incel ass will find everything too" I mean they all just became so afraid of being alone and it being your fault you decided to blame everyone else for being alone NEWSFLASH it's nobodies fault besides yours you caused your loneliness you can't help that so you go online spit some shit about women being bad and only liking attractive people ignoring the fact that it's just because your personality is shitty so that other men on the Internet will like you (gay asf btw) then you take whatever sex toy you have that fits your tiny dick and masturbate to overwatch porn for about 2 seconds then you jizz into whatever slimy toy you have and play call of duty with the 13 year old kids who are gonna end up like you and the worst part about it is you don't even get death you have all the water and food your mom brings down to you so that you never have to leave that chair and the only other option is to have self esteem issues and just fucking starve yourself to death in your mom's basement that's the only way any of you can get out of this life hopefully your mom makes you pay rent so you actually have to go out and work your minimum wage job and talk to regular people I know I said I wasn't gonna start any arguments but who's gonna read all the way down here I mean I could just put any picture down here too

See ts it's naked men and apes walking jk jk it's some depiction of evolution I was told a while back was incorrect but I have to assume they just mean it didn't make those dramatic jumps which yeah of course they're not gonna put a million slightly different monkey pictures on a god damn textbook

I'm terrified I'm absolutely terrified I'll end up like them fat alone with a huge drinking problem that I went to rehab for then immediately fell back into the pattern because my brother is an asshole or the other option living in my dad's basement and smoking weed all day and starving myself to death yeah that shit I said about starving yourself to death yeah that was about my brother it's a shitty way to end up but at least he has to pay rent so he goes to his job horrible way to end up and well I guess there's the third option I get good grades I write a good essay and I go to a good college but the whole time I'm in debt and empty inside I bottled my emotions up for so long that any slight thing that makes me mad I'll make a huge argument I like that one it's not likely to happen but I like it because at the very least I'm trying that's why it's not likely to happen I don't try to do anything not in a "I would succeed if I really tried" type of thing that losers say after they lose a game but a "well at least I did something" kind of trying I doubt I would succeed succeed but hopefully I'd get into some subpar college do what I like doing for at least a while you know till I kill myself that's where the story ends that's where it's always been leading I'm just waiting for the time to get there.

[yours-psyche]

// tw: disordered eating, body horror, graphic imagery

Three summers now in this town, I've yearned for different boys. I've lost my mind so many times, the walls echo the catches of my throat. I hate the mirror. I pray it's broken, distorted, so that what I see in it is not true. I've never thought myself worth looking at. The hands on my body thus far have felt like charity, like lust, despite the vessel that holds me. Despite the sags of my stomach and sides or the roughness of my skin, the pooling swells of my arms. Like clay that hasn't quite dried up. I wish the kiln would break me, burn me alive so that I may start over.

I've starved myself, but it wasn't enough. I'm doing better now; I feed myself meat and fruit and pastries. I feed myself pretty thoughts, so that pretty might take root in my stomach; I love my body. I wouldn't ban all that reflected. I wouldn't skin a skinny girl alive, pluck the nerves off her limbs one by one and step into her flesh, if only for a day, just so that I would know what it felt like. I don't look at the pictures in which I took up half of what I do now and want to carve into myself with a steak knife, cut off all the excess, bleed to death but bleed prettily, delicately, like a bunny, not a cow. I will die, so let me die like something worth looking at, a small thing, a poor thing worth pitying.

I will die someday. I will die a million things. I will die a daughter, a wife, a mother, maybe; I will die a musician, a poet, a dreamer. But it is not enough. I will never die beautiful. I will never die a pretty girl, and it has long since killed me. I will never understand, but I will never leave it behind me. I'm the artist and never the muse. I'm the writer and never the poem. I will never turn heads, I will never cause sighs; the men will always walk past and the women will never be envious. I am more than skin in fabrics, but they strangle me all the same, the way they never sit right, too tight, always too tight. The dress on the very last hanger, in the darkest corner of the rack, hiding from the world even in its lack of consciousness. The pants that fit my hips but not my waist because they weren't made with me in mind, because these hips weren't supposed to exist. Because a body like mine doesn't look right in the frame. This world wasn't made with me in mind, and it reminds me every day.

Its messenger, an angel of death; that picture of me in the coral red dress, in the dressing room. Bright red, striking against the background, like a warning sign, like a venomous flower. It was on sale, and it fit. The mesh panels sat on my waist just right, my breasts fit the too-small cups. My jaw didnt droop in the corners. I was sharp at the shoulders, easy on the eyes. Delicate, at last. Frail, a sweet girl not meant to stand in the sun too long. Sickly, just a little, just enough! Dizzy, so I may rest on someone's arm, fit into someone's kind embrace. I loved it. It looked foreign, it looked like someone else, it looked good on me. It was easy, like a game; one meal less, one more day in the sun, one day where they'd all feel sorry. Under all the fat, pulled like a curtain, were bones, pretty ones. All along, within me, a pretty girl was hiding. I was beautiful, I knew I could do it- I knew you, all of you, were wrong. It was right there, in the picture.

And then in a flash, it was gone. I got weak, scared, and the pretty girl hid under layers and layers again. A prison it is, this body, this game. A cycle I will never break. No amount of progress, of sets or reps, no claims of health will fix it. I dream of her. I want her back. I know- I just learned to eat breakfast, and I just started to sleep right, and my mom just stopped worrying. But sharp as a blade, sweet as death, she haunts me, comes to me in mirrors. Whispers in my ear that she's just dying to be born anew, bloom from my blood and innards like Aphrodite from the seafoam. A ghost, a temptress. Heaven's door and guardkeep.

A siren I don't know how much longer I can resist.

[noor1ee]

I think there's always been an innate desire in me to be pretty. Ever since I was a child, my brain had been fucked up by all the overwhelming beauty standards. I remember seeing all the tall, pretty girls on the screen with their perfect teeth, bodies, and skin. I remember squeezing out bottles of cream, hysterically applying them all over my body for my stretch marks to disappear. I begged my mom to do something about the pigmentation on my knees and stomach so that they wouldn't look ugly anymore. I never went out to play because I was scared that I would fall and the cuts would leave marks on my body and my skin would tan. My resentment towards myself grew as i realized how much more there was wrong with me with each passing day. I cried into my pillow at night because none of the things i did gave any result and I would recoil every time I looked at my body in the mirror. I starved myself and ran during P.E. until my body gave out so I could look like the girls in magazines. It scares me now when I look back, realizing just how much 9-year-old me felt. In addition, I had no one to run or talk to because I never realized how wrong this was on so many levels, that I wasn't supposed to feel so wretched. Although I've grown up and know better now, the years of internalized insecurity linger and never go away. I still want to tear my body apart and dissect each part so I can finally, at last, understand where it all went wrong.