#i've written a very long essay on my instagram post

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

Sparkstember day 23: Two Hands One Mouth✨

[dominiquewritesthings]

Meet The Author

Hi everyone! I realized I never did a Meet the Author post, so I figured now would be a great time to introduce myself as I'm 3 months into using Ko-fi! LOL!

To come up with questions, I submitted my own and put a question box on my Instagram! Make sure you follow me, here! 

1. Is Dominique your real name? Yes! I used to go by Dee for a while in the Episode community, but now that I'm trying to branch out my work and become a professional, I use my real name. I still take my internet privacy very seriously (as you should, too), but I'm more comfortable with people knowing my real name and age. 

2. Are you in school? Yes, I am! I'm a freshman (first-year) in college pursuing my Undergraduate Degree in English and Literature Studies with a Concentration in Creative Writing, which is a long way of saying my major is Creative Writing. 

3. How did get into writing? I had always written stories when I was a kid for fun. Then, I stumbled upon Episode for a year, and realized in 2015 I could write on the app, and since then I've been writing interactive fiction on Episode. And for Wattpad, I started writing there in 2017. 

4. What is the most difficult part of your writing process? I would say the coding involved in Episode and proofreading is the hardest part! Proofreading an Episode Chapter is difficult because it's not set up like an essay, short story, or novel. The coding aspects make it difficult to proofread, so I typically read it in the app. This helps me proofread my coding at the same time! 

5. How many books have you written and which one is your favorite? I've written 10 stories on Episode and 2 stories on Wattpad! And of course, while I'm writing Magic Prep, I have one I'm working on in the background (Iconic Members know)! My favorite would most likely be Lovely Belated! I'm so proud of writing that one and going against the grain. The story was about self-acceptance, and not getting with the love interest. It certainly ruffled some feathers but that was the goal of the entire story, so I'm happy I finished the ending no matter how controversial it was. And it's my first featured story so it's extra special to me! That being said I really love the new story I'm working on. The passion is too passionate.

6. Would you and your main character get along? Well, if you're talking about Londyn from Magic Prep... absolutely not! She tends to not know what's going on and I do for the most part, so that would get on my nerves quickly. Olive from The Other Half of Me would be difficult to get along with since she studies all the time and focuses a little too much on academics. 

7. What do you need in your writing space to stay focused? I need three things. Absolute silence. I am creating a symphony of words in my head so the slightest noise takes me out of it. A good drink. I usually drink a Matcha Latte, Iced Tea, or a Chai Latte because my coffee crashes come quickly and hits hard! And I need hype music. I need some kind of music that I've already listened to that's upbeat and fast-paced to keep me writing with the beat! 

8. What is the most valuable piece of advice you've been given about writing? You do not need to write every day to be good. You simply need to write often with the goal to improve every time. You may look at me and think that my writing is amazing, but I'm still improving. I decided to start writing more short stories to improve my descriptions because that's not my style. It's still not my style, but my descriptions have improved significantly! 

9. What books did you read growing up? I read a lot of Nancy Drew books and The Babysitters Club books! In fact, I read 130 different books from The Babysitters Club in elementary school. I also loved Dork Diaries. I'm planning on re-reading some of the books, so if you're an Iconic Member and want a book review let me know! 

10. What book (or books) are you currently reading? This is a doozy. At the time of writing this (October 18th, 2022) I am reading 4 books. Personally, I prefer reading one book at a time, but two of my classes in college require me to read a book, and I'm also in a book club. I'm currently reading A Magic Steeped in Poison by Judy I. Lin, All Boys Aren't Blue by George M. Johnson, The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith, and Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I think I'll make a separate blog post to talk about each book that I'm reading and why, since I'm reading a lot right now! 

[sitpwgs]

I totally agree with everything you said about rerecordings. I honestly forgot about Sweeter Than Fiction but I like your idea too. It makes sense..and ya it was probably cuz they had cowriters or how she maybe she doesn't agree with the message of Drama Queen anymore. For a while, Ive been thinking about how it would be fun to listen to each rerecording differently the first time. For the first two, I listened in order but then for Speak Now, we went with vault songs first..and now for 1989 I was thinking I will listen on shuffle for the first time..and see how the vault songs mix in with the original songs. I've never done that but think it might be cool to experience since I've heard these songs a lot..and 1989 especially has her most popular songs. Idk though..cuz I know Rep seems like it must be listened in order..then for debut I don't hear the full album all the time so I might just play that in order too. So this is my last chance..and I wonder if it will make me feel differently about the songs haha. That didn't really happen with the Speak Now vault songs though..they just felt pretty separate or like just added to the album. What do you think? How do you usually listen to them? I know sometimes people choose favorites first.

Oh that makes sense about the Roman Holiday musical..and maybe it was hard to translate to stage too. Since it's an old movie, I guess it kinda makes sense to use Cole Porter songs but I can see how that didn't really add anything.

For Paradise Square, i did not know much about it either. I guess there has been an issue of being unable to release their cast album. So the composer has posted a few clips of the musical and songs on his Instagram to appreciate the show and I was watching them yesterday. It seemed pretty good and had a lot of dancing. Haha that Smash comment! Ya it seems pretty in demand..which makes sense. Also your comment about the green light with staging would be totally cool.

Oh ya..maybe that's why they were kinda similar and because they were both based on books. But ya..I still love Love Simon and it's soundtrack but I never read that book either. I really think this one could have had more potential..the movie was fine to me but it just didn't make me feel anything. It could've been more maybe but I also see a lot of people loving it too. I saw someone say that the book has a lot of pop culture references I think so I get why you would say that about when it was written but I'm still always curious about differences from the book to the movie. Apparently you said they cut a whole character..and I'm just like what? Haha. And yes of course to the buddy read! I hadn't thought about it but I think I have time for some reading today so maybe I'll restart it. But I also saw you had a lot of books on your list already so I wasn't sure. There's no pressure and I'm afraid I'll be horrible at keeping up with it lol. I'm not sure if it's like we read a couple chapters then we can talk about it as we go or if you have something else in mind but let me know! I hope you're doing well too and also your dog is the cutest!!!

hi friend!! i am terribly, terribly sorry about how long it has taken me to get around to replying to this </3 i keep meaning to sit down and write an essay reply to your other ask but i have simply not had the time/energy to do so! i treat little women very seriously so it will be a very long essay-answer just so you are prepared! but i did not want to let this ask sit in my inbox longer than it already has </3 and i also just missed talking to you!! how have you been? i would love a behind the scenes documentary/something that gives us more insight into why taylor picks the songs she does from the vaults/how she decides which ones she wants to release/not, and which era she wants it on! i usually listen in order, ending with vault tracks, but i think it'd be fun to shuffle it around! you'll have to let me know which listening experience you enjoyed most 🤍 !! i cannot believe in about two months time, we'll have 1989 tv. i also think that roman holiday is one of those stories that would just not work today! and i think that despite the musical still keeping it in the 1950s, it still felt very ... modern? i don't know how to explain it! i think it was a case of them trying to writing so they could fit in cole porter songs, rather than fitting in cole porter songs to support the script/character development/writing/etc? if that makes sense! i just saw the outsiders is going to broadway, which i'm super stoked to hear more about! ( i know nothing about the outsiders musical, i'm just intrigued) between the outsiders, the notebook, merrily, and then i just saw nycc is doing titanic, i have a better feeling about next season than i have in the past! and then smash in 2024-2025 in theory... i'm just excited! here's a question for you: if you could adapt any book as a musical, what would it be? and if you could revive any show on broadway, what show would you choose? they cut a couple important characters in rwrb, which made me really upset but it is what it is! (+ all the other issues i have with the movie) i do maintain that the book is much better (although not perfect, obviously) but i'm glad that a lot of people seem to love the movie 🤍 it simply is not for me and that is okay!! and yes, still down to buddy read!! i can either match your pace (you can just tell me how much you've read when and i'll read up to where you are), i can read at my own pace and then we can discuss, or we can do a set number of chapters/pages/etc. every x days! let me know what you want to do, i'm flexible 🤍 and thank youuu!! i am doing okay! it has been a rough couple of days over here (family/health stuff) but things seem to be looking up here! 🤍 and my dog says hello!!! hope you're doing well too, friend!

[no1monstersimp]

14 and 15

WARNING THIS WILL BE VERY RANTY

Sorry this took a bit to answer haha, I was thinking about these ones for a little bit and I wanted to be able to type it out on my laptop because this may be long(and my laptop is slow). This will be a pretty heavy one.

So lets start with 14 -sigh-

TW rac*sm, h*m*phobia, ped*philia, r*pe, inc*st.

I'm sure this isn't unpopular, but my opinion about the fandom is it's pretty bad. Of course I love most of the users on here and have overall been very pleasant to interact with, but the issues are very overwhelming and become more apparent on the Reddit. You can say, it's just the Reddit, but I've seen these issues on Instagram, Twitter, and pretty much everywhere else. Some of the major issues are homophobia, racism, and the very concerning amount of pedophilia jokes/normalization.

So let's start with the homophobia portion.

As I'm sure everyone has experienced sometime in the fandom, there is an overwhelming amount of homophobia within the fandom. Let's take GenoSai for an instant. Whether like the ship or not, there is definitely a double standard among the fandom. Art where the ship is Genoko(Genos genderbend) x Saitama, it is perfectly fine and little heads are turned, but as soon as you mention Genos x Saitama, everyone goes batshit. They like to say it's because "ships don't belong in the fandom" but then turn around and ship Saitama and Tatsumaki or Saitama and Fubuki. They even go as far as to say "making them gay is disrespectful to the character or it ruins them". I'm sorry but if you're that delusional, I don't even know what to say honestly. Certain users got up and arms about the Batarou ship as of late after the reveal of Kiro in 170. Many users were sent unprovoked abhorrent asks or comments all because they ship them. Some have also downplayed the fact that bisexuality exists as well because of this, just stating "Garou isn't gay" or "Garou doesn't like men". There have been some that have written amazing essays on it so I won't go too deep into it here. Another thing is the downplay of LGBT voices in the fandom. They constantly harass LGBT users for having gay ships or other LGBT ships, when all we literally want is representation. It angers me when they say "well you have Puri Prisoner" and I'm sorry, but fuck that. I literally hate the character. They have no right to speak over us and preach what an acceptable character to represent the community is. No right at all...

Anyways... back to double standards, lesbian ships are more accepted because they are fetishizing them. Some of the most popular are Psykos x Fubuki, Fubuki x Do-S, and...ugh...Fubuki x Lily. So they ignore a literal 14 year old and 23 year old and think it's okay but somehow two consenting male adults in a relationship is worse??? Same thing with incestual relationships such as Fubuki x Tatsumaki.

A smaller section is the way they excuse Darkshine. I understand the intention may not have meant to be racist, but at the end of the day we can't keep excusing it. I feel awful when I remember his backstory because he's not a bad character, in the sense that he's a good guy.

Ah the pedophilia jokes and the normalization. I can't tell you how many times I've seen really disgusting jokes about the child characters in sexual situations. The thing is, they aren't even funny. As mentioned before, they already normalize the relationship between a 14 year old and someone she looks up to, who is 23. Well, let's dive into their favorite thing, One Hurricane. There is a volume of this lovely series , I say sarcastically, in which Child Emperor( a 10 year old) is raped by Fubuki (yet again, a 23 year old) and I sadly laid my eyes on a panel. Fubuki is sexually assaulted by Saitama multiple times throughout the series as well as Do-s in one volume. They still celebrate the series as "so good" when it literally excuses rape ad pedophilia. It pisses me off so bad. There are many users who draw or post incest, pedophilia, rape and are celebrated. It's sad I can think of so many off the top of my head, BY NAME.

I have some other things I want to talk about but the post is getting long...

I'll do a briefing of things I don't like about the manga itself. I don't like the way Kama is treated, she's way too beautiful to be presented the way she is. Especially in the webcomic when her name was "Slicing Shemale". I understand that there is apparently some translation issues, but sometimes I wonder.

I already talked about Darkshine and Puri.

[malexfan10]

What is it about Malex?

I was playing around on my phone at work (when I should have been working lol) and came across some article about the best TV couples. It was published in 2018 so Malex wasn't in it lol

But I was going through the pictures in the article and I saw a lot of the couples I've liked & enjoyed over the years listed. Pacey & Joey, Captain Swan, Haleb, Stydia, Kurt & Blaine etc.

I started thinking...what is it about Malex that makes them extra special for me? What is it about them that made me join Tumblr and Twitter for the first time? I never had either before this year. What is it about them that made me write more fan fic in the span of 3 months than I have in years of watching other shows? And I'm someone who studied English Lit in university and have written many novels, hoping to finally pursue publishing this year with one of them. But the amount of fan fic I've typed out the past 3 months? My hands seriously hurt!

So why is Malex so special?

(I made a collage below)

Is it because they're an LGBTQ pairing? There have been other LGBTQ pairings I've rooted for. Malex isn't the first and they won't be the last. Times are changing in TV land and we're seeing more and more representation. It's progressing slowly, but it is changing.

Is the reason Malex is extra special a shallow reason? The actors are both incredibly good looking. No getting around that. But I loved Haleb too and Tyler was one half of that ship. I adore Joshua Jackson and Dylan O'Brien. I think Holland Roden is beautiful. In the couples I've followed over the years, all the actors & actresses have been attractive in their own ways.

-- side note -- I know I put Destiel (SPN) in the collage below even though technically they're not a couple but some of their lines over the past decade, I mean come on! It's so obvious! --

Anyway...

Is it the chemistry between Tyler & Michael? I thought Katie & Josh had amazing chemistry. Only reason I watched PLL was for Haleb and the friendship between Tyler & Ashley. Some of the couples I've rooted for really sizzled on screen. Do I think Vlamburn has better chemistry than all the others? Not necessarily. I think they tie for first with some of my other faves (although I would probably rank them above right now just because they're current).

So what is it about Malex that made me so emotionally invested that I joined social media like this? That I've written a bunch of fics and have so many other concepts cooking in my head.

I think it comes down to the angst at the end of the day and how the story has been written.

I've directed a lot of disappointment and anger towards Carina and the writers since that finale because I'm afraid the triangle will grow and span multiple seasons. I'm afraid the writers will show Michael really starting to have deep feelings for Maria the longer M&M exists (I know Vlamis said in those last interviews that his feelings for her are already very deep but sorry Vlamis. I love you but I don't see that yet.) I'm afraid now that they know they were renewed, they'll drag this storyline out, pursure M&M and then Michael with other relationships if/once M&M ends with Alex just waiting in the sidelines, moping and heartbroken.

But despite all my fears and disappointments after that craptastic finale (seriously, I can write a 20 page essay), I have to give the writers their credit.

The story they wrote, the beauty they created in Malex, with that amazing angst and history and love is the reason I'm so invested.

"Where I stand, nothing's changed"

"I never look away"

"That I loved you and I think that you loved me."

"Cosmic"

"But you are mine"

"I don't look away Guerin"

"I love him. I probably always will"

I mean, these lines all exist. No one can take those words away. Yes, the writers can try and diminish it by shoving another relationship down our throats & attempting to give that relationship the same level of meaning and importance (sorry, not buying it. Hardly anyone is). But those lines will always be there.

The epicness of Malex will always be there.

That beautiful first kiss in the reunion will always be there.

Their connection in senior year, bonding over their painful childhoods and living situations will always be there.

Caulfield, although bittersweet, will always be there.

Michael Guerin wanting to be Alex's hero will always be there.

The angst and love between them is just unbelievable. I don't think any other couple I've rooted for over the years has had the same amount of angst or history. Their story is just beautiful.

I don't cry too much in movies or TV shows unless there's a really sad death that hits me hard. LOST was one of those shows where I sobbed constantly (Jin & Sun's death, Juliet's, Charlie's...I could go on).

But I cried after that last scene in episode 6, when Jesse destroyed such a beautiful and pure moment 🥺

I cried at that moment in Caulfield 🥺

I cried at the finale, watching Alex just waiting there while Michael....let's not remind ourselves 🤨

So yes, the chemistry is unbelievable between Tyler & Michael. How close they are offscreen shines through their performance and this is in a cast where everyone's close. But with Vlamburn, especially from Michael, he's so unfiltered when he talks about Tyler's eyes or the way he kisses or just how much he loves him. What can I say, they make me love Malex more ❤

Yes, they're both incredibly good looking but that's a miniscule, shallow reason. How good looking a couple is in no way compares to how much their emotional connection matters, at least for me.

So really, it's the story. It's the history. It's all that profound, made for each other, soulmates love that they share. It's the incredible angst that makes me root for them even more.

And yes, as much as Carina and crew have angered me after that finale and after their insistance of shoving this triangle down our throats and in our faces, they did create Malex so I have to be grateful for that. Vlamburn perfected it and made it epic but the concept came from Carina (trust me, it hurts to give that credit).

So as much as it still hurts with what happened, as much as seeing the M&M promos bothers me, as much as I'll be a sobbing mess once season 2 hits and Alex realizes what happened, I have to believe that this much care and heartbreaking angst was given to this couple for a reason. That reason has to be that Malex is endgame.

Can Carina change her mind about Endgame Malex? Sure she can, if she wants to lose a substantial percentage of the fandom. But I can't believe she'll do that.

I can't believe that Malex is anything but each other's ending.

I can't believe that this beautiful love story we've seen between 2 men who started as scared, lonely boys and are now broken men trying to put themselves back together is anything short of EPIC.

I can't believe that M&M, however painful and ridiculously unnecessary, is anything but a bump in this road for Malex.

All that matters is how the writers take us from point A to B.

Does their separation last for 4 more seasons (pending renewals) and Malex reunites in the series finale, season 5? God I hope not. I need to see them existing as a couple together on screen, not just a kiss and makeup moment last episode and assume they made it. So once this teenage level of triangle nonesense has been dealt with (please let season 2 be the end of it!!!!), I really hope the writers realize the amazing couple they created and give them their due justice by bringing Malex together for good.

Episodes 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, last Malex scene of 9, beginning of 10 and all of 12 point this show towards one inevitable ending with Malex and that's reuniting (did I get the episodes right?). Just keep your fingers crossed it happens sooner rather than later. Right now, that's where my main fears lie.

This fandom has been super great about lending support to one another when things get tough. Unfortunately, things will get even tougher next season so it will be good to have this great support.

As far as the promos and interviews we'll be getting between now and 2020, I'll try to only watch interviews that Michael & Tyler give together and avoid anything that seems like M&M promotion (outside of full cast interviews or festivals etc). I love all the actors on this show. They're all wonderful and talented and deserve our love and support (not commenting on that Nathan instagram thing).

But as a Malex fan, I have no place in my life for unnecessary stress from a TV show because honestly, as invested as I am, it's still just a TV show. No need to give myself more heartbreak before season 2 even airs by watching pro M&M interviews like yesterday. I'll just stay in my happy Malex bubble until then (and then die when I see M&M next year 😭).

In the end of this long post, all I wanted to say is that Malex is extra special, head and shoulders above others ships I've rooted for and that's mostly because of the beautiful story I've seen on screen but Vlamburn defintely plays an imortant part in making it epic ❤

I'm a Malex lifer. Nothing will ever change that.

❤

[ongames]

I've Never Felt Worse Than In The Moment I Looked My 'Best'

There is a photo of me, the best one I have. Maybe the best one I’ll ever have.

It was one of hundreds taken by a professional photographer whose pleasantly scruffy assistant spent hours flitting around her, holding a disc reflector to throw the Parisian summer light onto me just so. Before she’d even picked up her camera and he’d reluctantly put down his cigarette, a makeup artist had spent 90 minutes on my face, my hair, my nails. They were going for a ‘50s bombshell look – I’m not entirely sure why, now, but it made sense at the time – so there were hair extensions and curlers and false eyelashes and very bold red lips. In this photo, I’m sitting on a staircase, my hair mimicking the a curly black wrought iron bannister, with my hands demurely in my lap but my mouth slightly open in a Jessica Simpson-ish kind of way. My wrap dress, which I almost never wore in real life because it was too revealing, too clingy, is showing just the right amount of flesh. My eyes, thanks to the falsies and whatever witchcraft the surly makeup artist did with my brows, look enormous.

After the shoot was over, the photographer culled just three photos from the hundreds she took in the space of a few hours, and sent them to me. This is the best of those three. Years have gone by, and this is still the best I’ve ever looked in a photo. It’s also the unhealthiest I have ever been.

When it was taken, I’d been heavily restricting my food intake and compulsively over-exercising for about a year-and-a-half. I was the thinnest I’d been in years, and not that much thinner than I’d been when I fell down that hole, which, now, makes me feel both relief (thank god I didn’t do too much permanent damage) and regret (if I wasn’t even skinny, what the hell was all that suffering for?).

I was unspeakably miserable, literally: Despite being a professional writer, I couldn’t muster the courage to explain to anyone but a therapist how unhappy I was, or marshal the words to do my misery justice. But I was functional: working, traveling, and maintaining a social life ― even though I had to run extra miles to compensate for whatever I ate when people were watching. And this photo shoot was to accompany an essay I’d written for a well-regarded weekend magazine, an international byline, a big deal. The night before, I went for a run and ate lettuce for dinner. The morning of, I drank coffee and ate nothing.

The photo was taken before the rise of Instagram, though Facebook and Twitter were already in full force. Had I had access to a photo-focused social media network at the time I’m sure I would have posted it, probably with a performatively self-effacing caption, and watched with grim satisfaction as the likes and approving comments piled up. This week, in honor of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, I decided to post it, and to be honest about the wide chasm between what that photo shows and the truth. 

Thinness is an achievement for women, one we’re expected to work for if we’re not blessed with skinny genes, and offer sheepish, secretly-smug apologies for if it is gifted to us by nature. It’s a trophy we’re expected to hold on to at all costs.

The truth was that I was drowning. On the outside, things looked pretty good: My career was humming along, I was dating a great guy, I was spending the summer in Paris doing research for grad school, and hey, I’d dropped two pants sizes. For young women, this is what winning looks like.  

In fact, scratch the first three-quarters of that list, and just keep the newfound sense that you’ve earned the right to wear shorts in public: for young women, this is what winning looks like. Skinniness covers all manner of other failure, just as failure to be skinny can dim the sparkle on all manner of other success. There was a reason people were complimenting me on my “accomplishment,” praising my shrinking body. Thinness is an achievement for women, one we’re expected to work for if we’re not blessed with skinny genes, and offer sheepish, secretly-smug apologies for if it is gifted to us by nature. It’s a trophy we’re expected to hold on to at all costs.

Never mind that much of what I produced that summer was garbage, limp and listless writing that had to be redone because it lacked rigor. Never mind that I was lying to that great guy, pretending to be the healthy, naturally slender woman I knew he wanted to be with. Never mind that I spent those months denying myself French food and running along the pretty streets of Paris without ever really seeing them. Never mind; look what I’d accomplished. It was right there in the photo.

My illness never manifested as anything other than an achievement, because it was largely invisible. In that photo, I’m the thinnest I’ve been since hitting puberty in earnest, but I’m not skinny. I do not look sick. I do not look like a person who is suffering. I look like a person has succeeded at losing weight – and so I was. Very few people noticed that something was terribly wrong, because it looked like I was doing something right. This is not uncommon: eating disorders are exercises in secrecy, and while some of us fit the stereotype of the hyper-skinny anorexic, all bones and eyes, many of us don’t. Many of us hide our worst behavior behind closed doors, and hide the rest in plain sight.

I starved myself for two long years, with very little to show for it in the way of weight loss, and even less in the way of proof that I was sick. Again, this isn’t uncommon: There are lots of us out here starving, bingeing, purging and over-exercising, looking nothing like your mental image of a person with an eating disorder. You may think this makes our suffering less real, less corrosive. We may even think that ourselves – I did. I was wrong.

There are so many people walking around looking the “best” they’ve ever looked, and paying far too steep a price, a hidden cost they feel compelled to keep paying.

When, after a year-and-a-half of seeing a therapist, something finally shifted, and I started eating properly again, it showed in photos. In pictures from that year, I look puffy in the face and arms, like my body is clinging to every scrap of fat it’s given. Which, of course, it was. The body is smart: if you starve it once, it will forever be preparing for the next famine.

In those newer photos I am the picture of health, or at least, the picture of healthier. And yet, I don’t like to look at them. I don’t like the photo of me clambering on an ancient Sequoia with my colleagues on a work retreat. I don’t like the photo of me smiling at a dear friend’s wedding and surrounded by brilliant, loving women. I like the old photo, the bombshell photo, the photo that tells lies. It’s in a frame on my new boyfriend’s windowsill. I’m healthier now, and lucky to be so, but if there had been a oath to mental health that had involved no weight gain – well, I’d have been in recovery sooner, and I would have recovered faster. 

My suffering made me look great. There is no getting around this: my self-inflicted pain was rewarded with praise and sexual interest and even short-lived flashes of self-confidence. And there is no getting around the truth that I like the old photo better than the new ones. Just as I am working to accept that some people will always offer, “you’ve lost weight!” as a compliment, I am working to accept the uncomfortable, unhealthy truth: I have never looked “better” than when I was at my worst.

And I know I wasn’t alone. There are so many people walking around looking the “best” they’ve ever looked, and paying far too steep a price, a hidden cost they feel compelled to keep paying. To those people I say: I know your pain, and I promise it won’t always feel this way. It took work, to travel from that hungry day on the staircase, all dolled up and empty inside, to where I am now. It takes work every day, sometimes every hour, and it’s never a straight line. I look fine now, I suppose. I feel fierce, and I mourn the years I lost.

So the photo stays. As reminder of where I used to be, as a way to mark how far I’ve come. And as a reminder of the gap between truth and pretty fictions.

If you’re struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorder Association hotline at 1-800-931-2237.

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I've Never Felt Worse Than In The Moment I Looked My 'Best' published first on http://ift.tt/2lnpciY

[yes-dal456]

I've Never Felt Worse Than In The Moment I Looked My 'Best'

There is a photo of me, the best one I have. Maybe the best one I’ll ever have.

It was one of hundreds taken by a professional photographer whose pleasantly scruffy assistant spent hours flitting around her, holding a disc reflector to throw the Parisian summer light onto me just so. Before she’d even picked up her camera and he’d reluctantly put down his cigarette, a makeup artist had spent 90 minutes on my face, my hair, my nails. They were going for a ‘50s bombshell look – I’m not entirely sure why, now, but it made sense at the time – so there were hair extensions and curlers and false eyelashes and very bold red lips. In this photo, I’m sitting on a staircase, my hair mimicking the a curly black wrought iron bannister, with my hands demurely in my lap but my mouth slightly open in a Jessica Simpson-ish kind of way. My wrap dress, which I almost never wore in real life because it was too revealing, too clingy, is showing just the right amount of flesh. My eyes, thanks to the falsies and whatever witchcraft the surly makeup artist did with my brows, look enormous.

After the shoot was over, the photographer culled just three photos from the hundreds she took in the space of a few hours, and sent them to me. This is the best of those three. Years have gone by, and this is still the best I’ve ever looked in a photo. It’s also the unhealthiest I have ever been.

When it was taken, I’d been heavily restricting my food intake and compulsively over-exercising for about a year-and-a-half. I was the thinnest I’d been in years, and not that much thinner than I’d been when I fell down that hole, which, now, makes me feel both relief (thank god I didn’t do too much permanent damage) and regret (if I wasn’t even skinny, what the hell was all that suffering for?).

I was unspeakably miserable, literally: Despite being a professional writer, I couldn’t muster the courage to explain to anyone but a therapist how unhappy I was, or marshal the words to do my misery justice. But I was functional: working, traveling, and maintaining a social life ― even though I had to run extra miles to compensate for whatever I ate when people were watching. And this photo shoot was to accompany an essay I’d written for a well-regarded weekend magazine, an international byline, a big deal. The night before, I went for a run and ate lettuce for dinner. The morning of, I drank coffee and ate nothing.

The photo was taken before the rise of Instagram, though Facebook and Twitter were already in full force. Had I had access to a photo-focused social media network at the time I’m sure I would have posted it, probably with a performatively self-effacing caption, and watched with grim satisfaction as the likes and approving comments piled up. This week, in honor of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, I decided to post it, and to be honest about the wide chasm between what that photo shows and the truth. 

Thinness is an achievement for women, one we’re expected to work for if we’re not blessed with skinny genes, and offer sheepish, secretly-smug apologies for if it is gifted to us by nature. It’s a trophy we’re expected to hold on to at all costs.

The truth was that I was drowning. On the outside, things looked pretty good: My career was humming along, I was dating a great guy, I was spending the summer in Paris doing research for grad school, and hey, I’d dropped two pants sizes. For young women, this is what winning looks like.  

In fact, scratch the first three-quarters of that list, and just keep the newfound sense that you’ve earned the right to wear shorts in public: for young women, this is what winning looks like. Skinniness covers all manner of other failure, just as failure to be skinny can dim the sparkle on all manner of other success. There was a reason people were complimenting me on my “accomplishment,” praising my shrinking body. Thinness is an achievement for women, one we’re expected to work for if we’re not blessed with skinny genes, and offer sheepish, secretly-smug apologies for if it is gifted to us by nature. It’s a trophy we’re expected to hold on to at all costs.

Never mind that much of what I produced that summer was garbage, limp and listless writing that had to be redone because it lacked rigor. Never mind that I was lying to that great guy, pretending to be the healthy, naturally slender woman I knew he wanted to be with. Never mind that I spent those months denying myself French food and running along the pretty streets of Paris without ever really seeing them. Never mind; look what I’d accomplished. It was right there in the photo.

My illness never manifested as anything other than an achievement, because it was largely invisible. In that photo, I’m the thinnest I’ve been since hitting puberty in earnest, but I’m not skinny. I do not look sick. I do not look like a person who is suffering. I look like a person has succeeded at losing weight – and so I was. Very few people noticed that something was terribly wrong, because it looked like I was doing something right. This is not uncommon: eating disorders are exercises in secrecy, and while some of us fit the stereotype of the hyper-skinny anorexic, all bones and eyes, many of us don’t. Many of us hide our worst behavior behind closed doors, and hide the rest in plain sight.

I starved myself for two long years, with very little to show for it in the way of weight loss, and even less in the way of proof that I was sick. Again, this isn’t uncommon: There are lots of us out here starving, bingeing, purging and over-exercising, looking nothing like your mental image of a person with an eating disorder. You may think this makes our suffering less real, less corrosive. We may even think that ourselves – I did. I was wrong.

There are so many people walking around looking the “best” they’ve ever looked, and paying far too steep a price, a hidden cost they feel compelled to keep paying.

When, after a year-and-a-half of seeing a therapist, something finally shifted, and I started eating properly again, it showed in photos. In pictures from that year, I look puffy in the face and arms, like my body is clinging to every scrap of fat it’s given. Which, of course, it was. The body is smart: if you starve it once, it will forever be preparing for the next famine.

In those newer photos I am the picture of health, or at least, the picture of healthier. And yet, I don’t like to look at them. I don’t like the photo of me clambering on an ancient Sequoia with my colleagues on a work retreat. I don’t like the photo of me smiling at a dear friend’s wedding and surrounded by brilliant, loving women. I like the old photo, the bombshell photo, the photo that tells lies. It’s in a frame on my new boyfriend’s windowsill. I’m healthier now, and lucky to be so, but if there had been a oath to mental health that had involved no weight gain – well, I’d have been in recovery sooner, and I would have recovered faster. 

My suffering made me look great. There is no getting around this: my self-inflicted pain was rewarded with praise and sexual interest and even short-lived flashes of self-confidence. And there is no getting around the truth that I like the old photo better than the new ones. Just as I am working to accept that some people will always offer, “you’ve lost weight!” as a compliment, I am working to accept the uncomfortable, unhealthy truth: I have never looked “better” than when I was at my worst.

And I know I wasn’t alone. There are so many people walking around looking the “best” they’ve ever looked, and paying far too steep a price, a hidden cost they feel compelled to keep paying. To those people I say: I know your pain, and I promise it won’t always feel this way. It took work, to travel from that hungry day on the staircase, all dolled up and empty inside, to where I am now. It takes work every day, sometimes every hour, and it’s never a straight line. I look fine now, I suppose. I feel fierce, and I mourn the years I lost.

So the photo stays. As reminder of where I used to be, as a way to mark how far I’ve come. And as a reminder of the gap between truth and pretty fictions.

If you’re struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorder Association hotline at 1-800-931-2237.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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I've Never Felt Worse Than In The Moment I Looked My 'Best'

There is a photo of me, the best one I have. Maybe the best one I’ll ever have.

It was one of hundreds taken by a professional photographer whose pleasantly scruffy assistant spent hours flitting around her, holding a disc reflector to throw the Parisian summer light onto me just so. Before she’d even picked up her camera and he’d reluctantly put down his cigarette, a makeup artist had spent 90 minutes on my face, my hair, my nails. They were going for a ‘50s bombshell look – I’m not entirely sure why, now, but it made sense at the time – so there were hair extensions and curlers and false eyelashes and very bold red lips. In this photo, I’m sitting on a staircase, my hair mimicking the a curly black wrought iron bannister, with my hands demurely in my lap but my mouth slightly open in a Jessica Simpson-ish kind of way. My wrap dress, which I almost never wore in real life because it was too revealing, too clingy, is showing just the right amount of flesh. My eyes, thanks to the falsies and whatever witchcraft the surly makeup artist did with my brows, look enormous.

After the shoot was over, the photographer culled just three photos from the hundreds she took in the space of a few hours, and sent them to me. This is the best of those three. Years have gone by, and this is still the best I’ve ever looked in a photo. It’s also the unhealthiest I have ever been.

When it was taken, I’d been heavily restricting my food intake and compulsively over-exercising for about a year-and-a-half. I was the thinnest I’d been in years, and not that much thinner than I’d been when I fell down that hole, which, now, makes me feel both relief (thank god I didn’t do too much permanent damage) and regret (if I wasn’t even skinny, what the hell was all that suffering for?).

I was unspeakably miserable, literally: Despite being a professional writer, I couldn’t muster the courage to explain to anyone but a therapist how unhappy I was, or marshal the words to do my misery justice. But I was functional: working, traveling, and maintaining a social life ― even though I had to run extra miles to compensate for whatever I ate when people were watching. And this photo shoot was to accompany an essay I’d written for a well-regarded weekend magazine, an international byline, a big deal. The night before, I went for a run and ate lettuce for dinner. The morning of, I drank coffee and ate nothing.

The photo was taken before the rise of Instagram, though Facebook and Twitter were already in full force. Had I had access to a photo-focused social media network at the time I’m sure I would have posted it, probably with a performatively self-effacing caption, and watched with grim satisfaction as the likes and approving comments piled up. This week, in honor of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, I decided to post it, and to be honest about the wide chasm between what that photo shows and the truth. 

Thinness is an achievement for women, one we’re expected to work for if we’re not blessed with skinny genes, and offer sheepish, secretly-smug apologies for if it is gifted to us by nature. It’s a trophy we’re expected to hold on to at all costs.

The truth was that I was drowning. On the outside, things looked pretty good: My career was humming along, I was dating a great guy, I was spending the summer in Paris doing research for grad school, and hey, I’d dropped two pants sizes. For young women, this is what winning looks like.  

In fact, scratch the first three-quarters of that list, and just keep the newfound sense that you’ve earned the right to wear shorts in public: for young women, this is what winning looks like. Skinniness covers all manner of other failure, just as failure to be skinny can dim the sparkle on all manner of other success. There was a reason people were complimenting me on my “accomplishment,” praising my shrinking body. Thinness is an achievement for women, one we’re expected to work for if we’re not blessed with skinny genes, and offer sheepish, secretly-smug apologies for if it is gifted to us by nature. It’s a trophy we’re expected to hold on to at all costs.

Never mind that much of what I produced that summer was garbage, limp and listless writing that had to be redone because it lacked rigor. Never mind that I was lying to that great guy, pretending to be the healthy, naturally slender woman I knew he wanted to be with. Never mind that I spent those months denying myself French food and running along the pretty streets of Paris without ever really seeing them. Never mind; look what I’d accomplished. It was right there in the photo.

My illness never manifested as anything other than an achievement, because it was largely invisible. In that photo, I’m the thinnest I’ve been since hitting puberty in earnest, but I’m not skinny. I do not look sick. I do not look like a person who is suffering. I look like a person has succeeded at losing weight – and so I was. Very few people noticed that something was terribly wrong, because it looked like I was doing something right. This is not uncommon: eating disorders are exercises in secrecy, and while some of us fit the stereotype of the hyper-skinny anorexic, all bones and eyes, many of us don’t. Many of us hide our worst behavior behind closed doors, and hide the rest in plain sight.

I starved myself for two long years, with very little to show for it in the way of weight loss, and even less in the way of proof that I was sick. Again, this isn’t uncommon: There are lots of us out here starving, bingeing, purging and over-exercising, looking nothing like your mental image of a person with an eating disorder. You may think this makes our suffering less real, less corrosive. We may even think that ourselves – I did. I was wrong.

There are so many people walking around looking the “best” they’ve ever looked, and paying far too steep a price, a hidden cost they feel compelled to keep paying.

When, after a year-and-a-half of seeing a therapist, something finally shifted, and I started eating properly again, it showed in photos. In pictures from that year, I look puffy in the face and arms, like my body is clinging to every scrap of fat it’s given. Which, of course, it was. The body is smart: if you starve it once, it will forever be preparing for the next famine.

In those newer photos I am the picture of health, or at least, the picture of healthier. And yet, I don’t like to look at them. I don’t like the photo of me clambering on an ancient Sequoia with my colleagues on a work retreat. I don’t like the photo of me smiling at a dear friend’s wedding and surrounded by brilliant, loving women. I like the old photo, the bombshell photo, the photo that tells lies. It’s in a frame on my new boyfriend’s windowsill. I’m healthier now, and lucky to be so, but if there had been a oath to mental health that had involved no weight gain – well, I’d have been in recovery sooner, and I would have recovered faster. 

My suffering made me look great. There is no getting around this: my self-inflicted pain was rewarded with praise and sexual interest and even short-lived flashes of self-confidence. And there is no getting around the truth that I like the old photo better than the new ones. Just as I am working to accept that some people will always offer, “you’ve lost weight!” as a compliment, I am working to accept the uncomfortable, unhealthy truth: I have never looked “better” than when I was at my worst.

And I know I wasn’t alone. There are so many people walking around looking the “best” they’ve ever looked, and paying far too steep a price, a hidden cost they feel compelled to keep paying. To those people I say: I know your pain, and I promise it won’t always feel this way. It took work, to travel from that hungry day on the staircase, all dolled up and empty inside, to where I am now. It takes work every day, sometimes every hour, and it’s never a straight line. I look fine now, I suppose. I feel fierce, and I mourn the years I lost.

So the photo stays. As reminder of where I used to be, as a way to mark how far I’ve come. And as a reminder of the gap between truth and pretty fictions.

If you’re struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorder Association hotline at 1-800-931-2237.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2mQdWfM