i like champagne and people who think i'm funny.
Human beings are funny. They long to be with the person they love but refuse to admit openly. Some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worst, returned. But one thing about human beings that puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly inside.
— Sigmund Freud (via psych-facts)
I stopped going to therapy
because I knew my therapist was right
and I wanted to keep being wrong.
I wanted to keep my bad habits
like charms on a bracelet.
I did not want to be brave.
I think I like my brain best
in a bar fight with my heart.
I think I like myself a little broken.
I’m ok if that makes me less loved.
I like poetry better than therapy anyway.
The poems never judge me
for healing wrong.
Once again I have added not eating to the list of ways I deal
with the burden of being alive. I feel too old for this.
I have this strange solidarity with my seventh grade self.
The way she lived on green apples and coffee for six months
and her mother never noticed.
The friends I live with now say nothing when I do not eat.
When I carefully measure out my 600 calories a day
and half of them are wine. It is not their responsibility
to take care of me. It is my own. But lately,
I’m doing a terrible job.
Lately I’ve been looking at my body like it belongs
to someone else. Watching it slowly shrink like the crowd
at a party that that has gone too late. My stomach
has been an enemy my entire life. I miss her now that she’s gone.
She is a conquered enemy. A vanquished foe.
I did not want to win. Not like this.