#and we have public health babyyyy

[argentiniandoom]

this is going to be a very long post of me rambling about some thoughts I've been having for some time. no need to read it but if you do, know that I love you and would give you a tender kiss in the forehead.

ok I admit I'm sometimes surprised at how little queerphobia I face where I live lmao. let me explain (no this is not a 'come to Buenos Aires' propaganda post, though I wouldn't mind if you are convinced by it):

so I realised I was bisexual at age 16 and immediately came out to my family over the course of the next few days. obviously 16 is not particularly late to figure out your sexuality lmao but it was surprising even to me since I knew I liked girls a lot for years. I still love women a lot, they're great. so great I'm now one too, which I started figuring out the next few years (it wasn't that long ago but it seems like it because of covid).

the response from my family was, admittedly, less than ideal. I definitely thought my family was a lot more 'progre' ('woke'). my sister was a terf back then and the first boy I liked was trans so yeah. and my mom became worried that I'd be punched on the street, especially when I started painting my nails and doing make up. I remember telling her 'don't worry, I'll punch them back' which was probably the worst answer I could have come up with lmao. my dad doesn't generally care that much one way or the other, or at least tries not to show it, though he sometimes drops a phrase like 'I'm just sad because that means I won't have grandchildren' which is wrong in at least 4 massive and entirely different ways, but tbf he is usually pretty understanding when I explain a subject to him well (which i kinda have to have the skill for). and my grandma, well, I don't talk to her anymore (though believe me, my sexuality is just the tip of the iceberg of the reasons why). on the other hand, the response from friends was great because the school I went to was 90% populated by queer people (though the only actual couples were straight so you'd only see straight kisses on recess, sadly 😔) and my college is probably higher than that lmao (I study filmmaking in a public university so yeah).

now, the response from the rest of the world (outside of places like say, pride marches or gay bars) was of absolute indifference. in the best way possible. I have noted some people looking at me when I use my full skirt but like, I look at anybody too for no reason . I never felt threatened or anything like it by a stranger. and from my acquaintances, like my dentists who I visit since I was born (literally, that very day) or the adults in the spaces I frequent, I usually only got passing remarks about my nails or skirt, and I was even offered nail polish once.

now I'm definitely not saying no response was ever bad. last period I had the worst teacher ever who loved humiliating students and always tried doing that one way or the other. the first time I showed up with a skirt he asked me twice if it was indeed a skirt (the second time asking if it was a monk's habit lol) and then proceding to give an example about the day's subject by using the story of a man wearing a skirt because it was the fashion or something. and look, that was, I believe, the most bigoted experience I ever had, BUT, while that may sound terrible and, for many queer people in most contexts, absolutely would be, let me make clear that this teacher is at the very least somewhat disliked by most students and he was trying to mock me in front of a class made up entirely by 18 to like 25 year olds, probably half of them queer. I found that amusingly pathetic more than anything else.

the only other (actually) bad experiences I had were comments made by some adult acquaintances, but all of them (that I can remember) were either questions from genuine ignorance, or easily countered, innocent opinions, if a little stereotypical. literally the only times I was actually insulted for being queer ware before I realised I was queer myself. that is, I was called mean things like 'puto' (kind of like the f-word but much more watered down and reclaimed lmao) by 15 year olds at my high school. obviously it's not great that that's normalised, but at the same time, it was just a mean group of teens. I have never been bullied for being queer nor do I think I would have. I was bullied for other stuff, sure, but that's a whole different issue.

now, that was a bold claim, saying 'I don't believe I would have been bullied for being queer.' I wanna clarify, this is based on personal experience and opinions and info I have on my schools and schoolmates, and definitely not a general claim about schools in Argentina or even Buenos Aires city. we still have trans people murdered here, and '¿Dónde está Tehuel?' ('Where's Tehuel?', a young trans man that was disappeared in early 2021 and has not yet been found) is still an important issue and a slogan for queer people and activists. we're not a country free of queerphobia by any standards, especially (from what I know) outside of Gran Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires City and the sorrounding metropolitan area). but that doesn't negate the fact that I have never, personally, been in any way attacked by anyone. people don't treat me differently, especially strangers. that said, I am still generally male presenting, just with some feminine gender expression, and I'm pretty big so most people would probably think twice before insulting me on the street lmao. so I may not be the best example, but I am the one I have.

again, that does not mean systemic queerphobia doesn't exist here, it is definitely not just a few bad apples. but we are still a country with a long history of very important social struggles, one of the first to legalize gay marriage and gender transition with one of the most progressive gender identity laws in the world.

the fight is far from over, but I can't help notice chatty old people will talk to me equally. that may be a bit weird, but it is something I'm glad for.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Teeth Marks, Empty Nest, Picking Ritual | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

It’s been a hot minute since I last wrote a Moth Work writing update, and so here we are again for the final countdown! Today’s post will be covering everything related to chapter 12, 13, and 14. Let’s start with Teeth Marks, which I wrote probably sometime in February.

Teeth Marks marks the third part of Moth Work, called Wings, and the first chapter back in Harrison’s POV. I honestly can’t remember much of the writing process as it’s been a while, so let’s dive straight into the scene breakdown!

Scene A: 

We start in the doorway of Eliza’s apartment where Harrison stands shook because a) his boi Lonan has answered it (scandal) and his mother, who he has been estranged from for the last four years, is also in this apartment (EXTRA scandal). Eliza ushers Harrison inside (and this is probably the only *nice* interaction they ever have, spoiler alert!)

Harrison is very shook, and also a little angry, and also a little confused! He doesn’t know why his mother is here, and doesn't understand why Lonan wouldn’t contact him to tell him she is here.

Him and Eliza get into a bit of a scuffle where Eliza is protective of Lonan and is like “who are you mate” and Harrison’s like hahahHA pardON. This leads to Lonan kicking them both out even tho this ain’t even his house!

Scene B:

We now move to the stairwell right outside Eliza’s apartment where she and Harrison have been sitting in awkward silence! Harrison notices she’s wearing his guardian angel necklace (which Lonan mistakenly took back in chapter 6).

This scene is instrumental in setting up how these two interact, which in short, is not! fun! for! either! They try to be civil but can’t help but be protective over Lonan for different reasons. Eliza because they are now sort of in a relationship, and Harrison because hahaha he’s been there, and also because Eliza is Lonan’s father’s ex! Why!

Lonan interrupts this conversation and him and Harrison have a lil private moment even tho Eliza is standing right there aahaha. Eliza leaves which prompts Lonan to go after her, and we end with Harrison all alone in the stairwell like a proper sad boi.

Excerpts:

I previously wrote some mean things about this chapter and am editing it out cuz we tryna be positive! Here’s some tender romance because why not! For context, Harrison has asked Eliza how much she knows about the nature of the boys’ relationship (she knows nothing!!)

He could tell her the truth. About the polaroids left back in Boston. What it felt like to kiss him underwater. What it felt like to dance with him, his clumsy instep. What it felt like to trace each notch of his ribs in the off moments he’d sleep and how wonderful it was, to touch the places his hunger would go. 

Some more romance because yesss:

He pretends they’re alone at the cabin, somewhere on the water, sharing a sleeve of crackers, looking at the moon like it’s the other’s iris, somewhere where constellations read less like hieroglyphics and more like sonnets. 

Let us move onto chapter 13, Empty Nest!

Scene A:

Harrison sits alone at the dinner table watching a TV show in a language he doesn’t speak. His mother interrupts this *chillin* and they get into a heated conversation.

This ends badly for Harrison, to which Lonan (who is presumably arguing with Eliza in her bedroom) comforts him and yeets the two of them outta that apartment! Knight in shining armour babyyyy

Scene B:

Lonan takes Harrison to chapter nine’s beautiful place (the cove).

They chat about their (fallen) relationship and Lonan + Eliza’s relationship that is apparently now flourishing (hahah it actually isn’t)

This turns romantical very fast!!! I am guilty of self-indulgence!!

Excerpts:

EDIT: I originally had an edit in here saying I didn’t have the mental spoons to edit this chapter which is why I wouldn’t share a lot of excerpts! This was very true haha, as I was amidst the worst mental health week I’ve had in years, but guess! who! tried! to! edit! anyway! This obviously was not the best idea and I pushed myself too hard. This led to me doing some crying and beyond that, a decision to take a few days off of writing (despite the fact that I didn’t want to). I’m feeling great now which I’m so grateful for, but just a note! Anyhow!!

This excerpt makes me laugh because it gives me “lonely man sitting on his porch in the prairies” vibe:

No one eats together. Lonan and Suzanna have already taken their pick, and Eliza eats in her room. Harrison hasn’t seen Lonan since he followed Eliza’s empty trail back into the apartment, and he hears him now, between the drone of infomercials and advertisements on the Spanish TV station he doesn’t even understand. Coming from her room, he can picture him, the way Lonan argues, competitive like he’s trying to win something. Suzanna sits on the balcony, maybe hiding a smoke, or something more ridiculous, new age, like an essential oil pen. Ribbons of grey luminescing in the neon lights. Maybe it’s more accurate to say Harrison eats alone. 

This is the excerpt that I had a breakdown editing lmaooo I think it’s cute tho!!

Somewhere better is a beach. Hidden in a cove, the stones arched over seafoam. In the moonlight, sand glitters, water trills, a night owl in the distance wails. Lonan leads him to the cove’s heart, a bullet of clearing that reveals constellations neither recognize. Lonan’s brought a basket with him, unfolds the checked blanket across the shore. Harrison sits first, and observes as Lonan travels the cove’s perimeter, collecting driftwood as he goes. He stacks them into a pyramid at the shore’s lip, pulls out a lighter.

He starts the fire easily, cups the flame like it’s a jittering organism, coaxes it until it expands. The flame tints his jaw gold, glares in his eyes so they look like blue fire. The night halos around ­Lonan, burnishes the cove walls, turns the sand into a mirage. As Lonan nurses the fire, Harrison traces his face, the violet impasto around his eye. Lonan has always looked like a masterpiece to him, damp black hair that almost looks navy blue, a smile so subtle, it’s almost acquired. He holds the fire so it toasts his chin, his focus a delicate, paternal thing.

Picking Ritual is chapter 14 of the book! I wrote this during reading break, and it’s one of my faves a) because of the title and b) because Harrison and Eliza FIGHT (I’m here for the tea).

Scene A:

Lonan and Harrison get back from their self-care-gone-romantical escapade to drunk Eliza creepily sitting in the dark!! Harrison’s mother has left, which Eliza uses as cruel ammo (don’t we love her)!

This is where we really get to see Eliza’s other side as she gets gaslighty as a response to Harrison’s very true callouts

Scene B:

Later, Eliza may or may not purposefully leave her bedroom door open while mildly unholy matters occur that’s all I’m gonna say about that!!!

Scene C:

Eliza leaves her room to “get some orange juice” (she’s trying to get a rise out of Harrison, which works). They roast each other endlessly until Harrison asks her to play a game with him.

Scene D:

This game is a game of cards, which is actually Harrison choosing four cards (king of spades = Lonan’s father, queen of hearts = Eliza, the joker = Lonan, and a jack = Harrison) so he can learn more about each one he chooses for her.

This is where the chapter title comes from!

Excerpts:

The following is a self-roast because my house does all the following (besides magnets on ALL four corners of dishcloths, there’s currently just one. ;) Lonan in this scene is Fiona in that scene in Shrek 2 where Shrek and King Harold are arguing over dinner (CW: there’s a description here that could be potentially triggering for self-harm!).

Suzanna is gone when they get back to Eliza’s apartment. No jacket on the coat hook. No shoes on Eliza’s straw-woven welcome mat. The kitchen has been picked over, each plate, fork, back in its strangely correct place. Eliza keeps her cutlery in jars, and her pans in the oven, her dish cloths magnetted to the fridge by all four corners, a pristineness that feels chemical.

Just as he’s about to comment on it, a light from the living area flicks on, and underneath sits Eliza, paging through a book in the dark. Spots like wine stains on her cheeks shine glassy under the harsh lightbulb.

“She has a place twenty minutes from here. By the public gardens,” she says, running her fingernail against the ribbed spine of the hardcover. Harrison can’t make out the title. When he stares blankly at her, examining the patches on her skin until he’s memorized of their surface area, she clears her throat and shuts the book. “Your mother?”

“I know,” he says.

“That your mother has a place twenty minutes from here?”

“That you were referring to my mother.”

“So you didn’t know?”

ugh I love Harrison and Eliza arguing it’s my fave dynamic:

Eliza stands, and smooths the silk of her night dress, though one crease continues to bunch. She folds her hand into a fist, and brings it to her mouth, biting on her knuckles as she paces. Harrison and Lonan watch her, and Lonan’s about to step toward her when she nods and directs her gaze straight at Harrison. “Did that upset you?” she asks, peeling a sliver of skin up between her teeth, letting it snap back. “The way I spoke of your mother.”

“I don’t care about anything you have to say.”

Oof oof tensions be RISING:

Lonan knocks on Eliza’s door a half hour later and doesn’t come back out. Harrison watches the shut door like he can break through it from the couch, how heavy it sits in its frame like they’ve taken turns smearing caulking in its seams.

The nightglow decolours his chin, his eyes, and he stares at the stars as he did an hour ago with Lonan. He touches his lips, hoping something divine will reappear on his fingers, something divine enough to anoint himself with. Nothing does, of course, but he tries, dappling each groove of his mouth. 

Here’s some Eliza being Eliza :)

He should tell her to buy some curtains. The sliding door’s glass opens to her balcony where his mother stood, pouring onto the busy street below her apartment complex. He can almost perfectly replicate the image of his mother with just his fingertip, a familiarity of her unknown, but unconsciously memorized by him. Suzanna has traded her only pair of shoes—a dingy set of floral flip-flops—for boots with silver zippers, steel toes, heels perfected by a designer she has a connection to. He thinks of his mother with sour precision, a sugary glumness that makes his mouth heavy.

He still wears the angel Lonan re-fastened around his neck and examines it against the belly of the two-seater Lonan once slept on.

She’s lost a stone from where he threw it, almost unnoticeably in the corner where her wings meet her back. He runs his finger over the empty spot, a nearly undetectable groove, and wonders how difficult it would be to find it in the tooth of Eliza’s hardwood.

Just as he’s prepared to get up and find out, the heavy door jars open. Wider than he’s expecting, so he can see Lonan from the couch. Arranged against a pillow, his hair disappearing into the dark wood of Eliza’s bedhead. His eyes closed, a tremor that rocks through his forehead every few seconds. And then quickly, Eliza shuffling through the opening. She wears a kimono patterned with koi fish, the fabric rustling against her bare thighs as she enters the kitchen.

Harrison watches her through his eyelashes, her half-up hairdo falling toward her face, the flash of skin pale, like the peel of the moon.

She grabs a glass he washed and fills it from the sink. Once a bulb forms across the surface, she tips it to her lips, and swallows deliberately.

Harrison watches as she checks the sink for unwashed dishes she knows aren’t there. As she adjusts a placement on her table that doesn’t need adjusting. As she spins herself on her toes around the kitchen island, her kimono splaying so he sees flashes of her thighs again. She dances like this back to her bedroom, where she sets her water glass on the dresser, and keeps the door wide open. 

I can’t not share this part I apologize there is some spice but also Harrison’s iconic Gay (TM) takedown at the end brings me so much joy:

Eliza exits the room a half hour later, except this time, doesn’t dance. Still, she steps carefully, her toes taut as she patters against the floorboards. Harrison watches her with his arms crossed, and stays like that, even when they make eye contact.

She startles and re-adjusts her kimono, so the clip of her skin disappears. She’s combed her hair since she and Lonan finished, and it sits gauzy over her forehead.

“Have you ever thought of buying a deadbolt?” he says, watching carefully as she turns and grabs a glass from a cabinet.

The refrigerator thrills when she opens it, a wash of gaudy tungsten yellowing her face. She sucks on her lip as she pulls out a bottle of orange juice, glugging a cupful into her mouth first, and then into a glass. 

“A deadbolt,” she says, a lightness in her voice—false innocence. “Why?”

“I’ve heard good things. Security. Privacy. You live alone, don’t you?”

She juts the orange juice to her lip fast, her chin bucking like she’s taking a shot. “I do.”

“You’re planning on keeping it that way?”

Eliza drains the last of the orange juice and rests the glass in the sink. She flicks on the tap so a stream splashes into its mouth like somersaults, diluting the juice until the glass cleans.

“There must be someone,” Harrison elaborates. He shifts, so his legs hang off the couch’s edge. The hardwood is cold, and for a moment, he feels like he’s stepping on water. “You’re seeing people, aren’t you? You live in Las Vegas. Good job. Decent apartment.”

Eliza shakes off the wet glass and sets it on the drying rack. “Are you interested?”

“I’m gay, but thanks. How does that work, anyway? Dating you. Would I send in an application? Self-addressed stamped envelope and all? Email?”

ugh more iconic Harrison I love him:

Harrison’s eyes focus on the lip balm and he imagines Lonan putting it there, his finger moving across her mouth and then down, like an anointment. “Isn’t that such a coincidence, then? You’re so selective, yet you manage to date two members of the same family.”

Her smile fades. Eliza clucks her tongue and wipes her mouth quickly with the back of her hand. Thoughtlessly, she refills the clean glass with more orange juice, and only realizes her mistake after the liquid sits precisely at the rim of the cup.

“Shit,” she says, wringing her hand out. “Shit.”

“I’ll drink it,” he says, and is already up and at the kitchen island before she puts another hand on the glass. Eliza almost scowls, but chews on her gums when she catches herself. She slides the glass across the granite, and a blip of orange juice jitters onto the surface. Harrison dabs his pinky in it and sucks it into his mouth. “I want to ask you a favour.”

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

He puts a hand against the fridge before she can move past him, and Eliza sighs, weaves her arms haughtily over her chest. “Cards.” The fridge rumbles to life under his fingertips, and Eliza jumps. “Play a game with me,” he says.

Sharing because of Harrison’s roast at the end, it’s really just one of those days:

Eliza’s a good shuffler. Easily, she dices the cards, the hard split of their edges when he usually shuffles almost non-existent. He’s only ever met one other person who can shuffle like her—his mother.

Harrison sips the orange juice as she shuffles the deck. In all truth, he doesn’t need the cards to be shuffled—he knows exactly which ones he needs. But her ease intrigues him, and he can’t help but feel mesmerized with each flitter of the deck.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asks after another long pull of juice.

She cuts the deck and continues. “My father.”

“I didn’t know you had parents.”

“I didn’t know your mother had children.”  

“I don’t think she knows either.”

Eliza rests the shuffled deck onto the countertop and nudges it toward him. He hasn’t told her what game they’re going to play, and as Harrison searches for his necessary cards, the prickle of her gaze deadens. He keeps at task, combing each card and pulling out the needed.             

“I would’ve liked to know.” Eliza says this nimbly. “You look like her.”        

Another pick. “Every son wants to look like their mother. What a dream.”      

“I meant that as a good thing.”

“And I meant what I said as a bad thing.” 

What a way to end this update lol! 

I’ll be back soon with an update for the final chapter in this book! I hope y’all have been okay in these times, I know it’s not easy. Let me know what you’re working on!

--Rachel

[for-shits-and-fiddles]

To all my peeps in recovery:

First off, good job! It is a slow process that starts off like pulling out your fingernails with pliers then slowly improves to just dipping your paper cuts in rubbing alcohol!!! Jk kinda!!!

I wanted to talk about personal responsibility/avoiding triggers:

I cannot stress the importance enough of calling out people in your life that make negative comments about gaining weight, fat people, or their own bodies.

It is important to say to those people, “hey, those comments make me feel bad about my own body, please don’t do that around me” —> you do not have to tell them you’re in ED recovery, just telling them how it affects people around them is enough to challenge their way of thinking and prevent them from doing more harm.

It’s important not just for you, to avoid relapses, but also for others in society, who discriminate against them because of fatphobia.

This comes with the benefit that you will hear less fatphobic comments, but also that you can continue to change your own mind about fat itself.

Because ED sufferers mostly have this body negativity directed at themselves, “other people can be fat and look great, just not me” is a commonly heard excuse to still make these negative comments about their own fat, but this is a bad excuse and still hurts those around us, still promotes their own disordered thinking, and still promotes fatphobia—it is important to learn that.

One thing that helps in recovery is looking at your body, and actively choosing to be positive about weight gain or fat or just how your body looks. This is VERY hard to do, but choosing not to voice negative thoughts and instead positive thoughts (even if they are lies) is a step in the right direction: FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT BABYYYY!!!! Take those insecurities and put a positive spin on it!!! Even if it’s to yourself in the mirror!!!

I want to make it clear that this is not a reason to not talk about poor body image or negative self talk with those who care about and support you, but there is a difference between admitting you need help and feel bad about yourself for dumb reasons and casually promoting fatphobia around those who can be hurt by it. Those casual comments hurt others AND yourself.

Also, if you see stuff that does the same on tumblr (i.e. a pro ana blog posting thinspo or low cal recipes in #recovery tags) you can actually let them know to remove those tags from their posts. THIS MUST BE DONE POLITELY AND CONSIDERATELY. Remember, in 99% of cases, it is not maliciously done. In fact almost everyone with pro ana blogs are also pro recovery, even if it’s just for other people and their sense of recovery is pretty twisted from ED thoughts. They generally do not want to trigger or relapse others, every time I’ve done this they have removed tags and apologized! Remember that recovery looks different for everyone and we can all pretty much remember being there (i wasn’t pro ana but I definitely made jokes and memes and normalized Ed thoughts and behaviors, and I can never apologize that away).

It’s hard, being in recovery, and being on a public platform is even harder if you wanted a more anonymous private blog to talk about your mental health (that’s why this one was started lol). But we must remember to be kind to ourselves and others, and act responsibly when what we say is heard by others. Especially for those in recovery, it is a constant battle of checking your thoughts and behaviors to make sure you aren’t falling back into ED brain. It’s hard work, but it is worth it lovelies. We all have so much to offer the world and we matter. I wish everyone a safe and steady recovery, and above all remember that it is never to late to change your mind. 💕