How to Avoid Feelings: a lesson by Pooh

(Source: shardwick, via neural-walls-and-plasticities)


Monday funday

 It’s hard to be stressed right now.  I don’t treat my body well naturally (hashtag eating disorder recover) and when I’m stressed, anxious, whatever, it’s hard to treat my body well. I also know that the lady-monthly-times I am so happy to have also doesn’t help.

I walk around in the world slightly uncomfortable this week. The dress I wore to the wedding this weekend had long lace sleeves and hugged my ribcage in a way that didn’t feel comfortable until I was tipsy. My partner was in the wedding so I spent a lot of time with the wife of one of his best friends who is super kind but also super unlike me, one of those women who throws on a striped shirt and a blazer on Sunday after the wedding that perfectly compliments her very in style neutral grey perfectly manicured nails while I have hair that’s static-y and all over the place, bags under my eyes and a sweatshirt on with jeans unbuttoned because the buttons make me hyper aware of my cramps that woke me up at 6am.

I get hang overs now but they’re sneaky and they last all day and I feel guilty for drinking and then I feel guilty for eating all the things that make me feel slightly better (in the moment) because they’re generally greasy or whatever and I feel like a ball of full grossness.

I try to be proactive in the things I need to change. It is exhausting, however, to do so. I take my anti-depressants and I take deep breaths and I live with my headphones in at work to make it through the day.

Tonight I am going to do something active. I know it will make me feel better. I also know I need to just let this moment pass. I need to be kind to myself. In times when the outside stuff is hard, self care is of the most importance. I need to drink less so I don’t use it to comfort myself. I need to move my body in ways that make me feel good and happy and taken care of. I need to put on make up, do my hair if I want to, clean my apartment ( it’s a mess. I threw everything down and made a huge mess in the bathroom and watched Gilmore Girls for hours instead of doing the things that might have made me feel in control).

Apparently journaling is a good way to keep control of one’s like. Or to feel in control of one’s life. So I guess I should do that? It doesn’t feel fun, however. #emotimes


Ramblings for the 2nd of October: emotions, friendship, work.

There have been a lot of times in my life where I have wanted to hide from my emotions. Well, let’s be real, I didn’t want to hide from them, I wanted to just not have them at all. I wanted to be one of those people you know who has a super tough skin and is a fighter who doesn’t care what anyone has to say yet everyone looks up to them because they are so strong and who, if anything, is happy. I didn’t like the ugly anger and sadness that crawled out sometimes. So I hid it beneath layers of eating disorder and anxiety and then it would explode out of me uncontrollable and scary.

And then I went to treatment and I worked on figuring out how I could feel my emotions in a manageable and full and safe way and express it appropriately. It didn’t always happen that way. There was one evening in the very beginning where I had a full blown 13-year-old style spaz about carving pumpkins. Like, insane. ANYWAY. It got better. I feel my emotions. I express them appropriately, or at least I try to. I don’t pack up bags every time I get in a fight with my boyfriend. I give space when it’s asked for and figure out what I need to do.

And I guess I’m just sensitive. That’s just who I am. I care about things. Letting people in my life is scary and when I do, and that doesn’t turn out well, it hurts me in a kind of deep way. When a silly girl at my office who I bonded with and then we had normal differences in our lives and she sent me a petty text about how she didn’t like me, we didn’t see eye-to-eye, blah blah blah, and I was upset, even though I agree completely that we are different people in different places (WHY did I mix work and friendship? With a 21 year old? Why?!??!) well it doesn’t matter. What does matter is  I was sad and upset and hurt. And my living partner, he didn’t get it. He’s playing Destiny, staring at the screen like it’s everything to him, and he gets angry, defensive, almost. “Why are you so upset? If you let people like this upset you you are NEVER going to be able to find a job you’re happy in.” (Which was hurtful for a variety of reasons)

And I thought about that. Maybe I should be tougher. I cried ugly. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I will never be happy if I am so emotional. If I am who I am.

But then my longest friend sat with me outside in the crisp fall air and she told me that in her professional experience, being tougher doesn’t make you better. That part of the best parts of me is that I feel things and I care about things and I have emotions. That that’s what allows me to see when things are bad to work so hard and to care. That she wants me to be in a place where the people in my life value the best parts of me. Because to her, it’s one of the best things about me.

I took klonipin and went to bed.

Today I feel like I was run over by a truck. Sometimes I look at my life and I don’t recognize it. Which sounds SO emo, I know. Sometimes it’s goo dan dsometimes its bad and sometimes it’s neutral. Lately it feels confused nad hard. What do I want to do? Where do I want to be? What makes me happy? Who am I, now? It’s so easy to get lost in logistics and specifics. To define myself by titles. I am a girlfriend. I am a sister. I am a city-liver. I have dogs. I am in recovery. Not by who I am. I feel so distant from the deep good parts of me sometimes. I guess this is what exhaustion does to you. I wonder what it means to really be loved, to be seen. Is it a thing? Is it a movie fallacy? Is it me and my “head” that makes a reality that means the person I love can’t break through enough to show me that he loves me? Is he really trying and I’m just not seeing it? Am I going to be okay?

I’m not sure. But I do know that I have emotions. And they’re not going anywhere. And they make me alive. And although they feel awful. Ugly. Too much. They’re not. And I’ll choose to listen to my friend, today. They make me good. 


(Source: assholedisney, via jennielee)


things that are lovely about being in recovery

however shitty some days are. Today I’m drinking vanilla coffee with a splash of heavy cream in a lovely hand-made purple cup and it’s so tasty and so wonderful and it’s rainy outside but it doesn’t matter because this coffee is perfect.

And this is something I wouldn’t have experienced if I’d stuck with ed. 




19 #WhyIStayed tweets everyone needs to see

While many cheered the NFL’s move to (finally) punish Rice’s vicious behavior, too many media outlets immediately fell into a tired pattern of victim blaming. 

Writer Beverly Gooden had heard enough. “I was watching the responses to the TMZ on my timeline, and I noticed a trend. People were asking ‘why did she marry him?’ and ‘why didn’t she leave him,’” Gooden told Mic. “When I saw those tweets, my first reaction was shame. The same shame that I felt back when I was in a violent marriage. It’s a sort of guilt that would make me crawl into a shell and remain silent. But today, for a reason I can’t explain, I’d had enough. I knew I had an answer to everyone’s question of why victims of violence stay. I can’t speak for Janay Rice, I can only speak for me.”

Gooden decided to change the conversation. Follow micdotcom

#1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10, 11, an 12. 





Important, always-relevant comic done by the wonderful Ursa Eyer.


I hate when men tell me to smile. I find thinking about ripping their penis off with your teeth produces a smile that frightens them.

(Source: ninjasexspoopy)





Did you ever realize how much your body loves you? It’s always trying to keep you alive. It’s making sure you breathe while you sleep, stopping cuts from bleeding, fixing broken bones, finding ways to beat the illnesses that might get you. Your body literally loves you so much. It’s time you start loving it back.

(Source: depressed--equestrian, via freefrommychains)