Yearly Archives: 2015

Here the illness part of mental illness kicks in. I don’t know why at this point in my life my eating disorder kicked in.

No one will see that I’ve started cutting again. I thought only dyed-haired teenagers in too much eyeliner pulled that crap, but I’m 41, with tasteful blush and nude lips and I can’t f*cking stop with the knives. I even confuse myself.

By Martina Clark. I’m a week late. Not on my rent, for my period. I’m never late. Ten years ago – or five, heck, even...

I'm not exactly sure how I became the family disgrace.

I’m haunted by a person I never met. My paternal grandparents lost their middle son, Carl, in a car accident. He was almost 20. His...

I wasn’t expecting to see lesbian drama in my first week in Fiji (or at all, for that matter), but there it was, like the ocean, waiting––unconcerned with my existence and yet completely immersive. A pull.

My journey to fat started a long time ago when I was a child and I didn't have the language to deal with some particularly ugly feelings.

Joy can be found even in despair. The grey cloud lifts, it moves—it is over there tomorrow; today it may come closer. If we slow ourselves we can find magic in even the deepest sorrow.

Surround yourself with so much love and friendship in a single room that you can’t help but be your true self, and with that outward confidence, be fascinated by the people you don’t know already, let them know you want to know them, and then just see what happens.

She shows me the diagram of my fallopian tubes. It looks like a Dali painting. One of the things looks like a hookah pipe. It’s the tube.

That’s life. That’s death.

Where was she? In a morgue? Would I find her?