whom I love dearly.
this friend has a habit of centering themselves in everyone’s shit.
I’m losing my willingness to redirect.
and hate being called abusive creeps.
as if lifting someone’s video and posting it to WSHH isn’t abusive or creepy
as if deciding that you get to say/ do what you want because THEY STRUCK A NERVE WITHIN YOUR ABUSIVE, CREEPY SELF makes you justified.
nobody deserves or earns that kinda shit.
you mad? stay mad. most importantly, stay the fuck away. disengage.
your mama should have swallowed you.
on social media
in your home
at your job
ppl really don’t wanna own the idea that they (gasp) could be unnecessarily starting some shit.
yet, here you are KNEE FUCKING DEEP in some shit that originated from you.
has miguel come out?
if not, why are ppl calling him “girl” and what up with all this bottom talk?
cuz, isn’t being out a choice?
does it really matter what we believe about him?
even if you saw him, with your own eyes, doing “some gay shit,” is it your job to out him?
I just wanna know.
cuz last I heard, outing ppl is fucked up.
when I say I ain’t fuckin w/ a certain person anymore?
like, yo, I haven’t talked to XXXX in 2 years. we parted under bad circumstances. I am actively not dealing with them.
I don’t care what it was like before. I give zero fucks about what you always thought. XXXX isn’t part of my life. by my choosing, as much as theirs. I will not find them for you, or put out an APB, or tell ZZZZ to give XXXX your contact info so y’all can be in touch.
that is bullshit.
Stand naked in front of a mirror for a long time, under unflattering light if possible. Trace the rises and falls of the little ripples on your skin — the scars, the dimples, the cellulite — and think about how much you try to hide these things in your day-to-day. Wonder why you hate them so much, and if this hate stems from somewhere within yourself, or as a result of being told all your life that it’s wrong to have physical flaws. Wonder what you would think of your body if you never looked at a magazine, if you never thought about celebrities and models, if you never had to wonder where someone would rate you on a scale of 10. Look at yourself until the initial recoil softens, and you can consider your features in a more forgiving frame of mind.
Listen to the music which makes you want to both sob and dance with uninhibited joy, and allow yourself to repeat any song you want as many times as your heart desires. Think of the person you are when you have your favorite song in your headphones and are walking down a street you feel you own completely, swaying your hips and smiling for no good reason — remember how many things you love about yourself during those moments, how much you are willing to forgive in yourself, how confident you are for no good reason. Try to think of confidence as a gift you give yourself when you need it, instead of something you have to siphon from every unreliable source in your life. Dance because the music makes you remember how much you love yourself, not because it allows you to forget the fact that you don’t.
Write a list of all the things you like about yourself, even if you think it’s a self-indulgent and narcissistic activity. Start as early as you like in your life — put down that time you won a trophy playing little league soccer when you were eight and then got an extra-large shake at the DQ on the way home, and don’t feel silly for remembering it. Try to understand how many sources in your life happiness can come from, how many things you could be proud of if you chose to. Ask yourself why you so tightly limit the things you take pride in, why you set your own hurdles for happiness and fulfillment so much higher than you do with anyone else in your life. Let your list go on for pages and pages if you want it to.
Touch and care for yourself with the attention and the patience that you would someone you loved more than life itself. Rub lotion in small circles on your elbows and hands when it is cold and your skin is dry and cracked. Make soup for yourself when your nose is running and curl up, with your favorite movie, in a pile of expertly-stacked pillows. Light a few candles and let their glow flicker against your body. Admire how gentle they are, how delicately their warmth touches you — wonder why you don’t let yourself do the same. Soak your feet in warm water at the end of a long day, until they have forgiven you for walking on them for so long without so much as a “thank you.” Listen to your body when it aches to be touched, and don’t be afraid to give it every orgasm that you may have been too ashamed to ask for in someone else’s bed.
Be patient with yourself, and don’t worry if a switch doesn’t flip in you which abruptly takes you from “crippling self-doubt” to “uncompromising self-love.” Allow yourself all the trepidation and clumsy, uneven infatuation that you would with a promising stranger. Try only to be kinder, to be softer, and to remember all of the things within you which are worth loving. Listen to the voice in the back of your head which tells you, as much out of sadness as anger, “You are ugly. You are stupid. You are boring.” Give it the fleeting moment of attention it so craves, and then remind it, “Even if that were true, I’d still be worth loving.”"
is it okay for my neighbors to be this loud at this hour ON A GODDAMN SATURDAY MORNING.
digging up archived posts for the sole purpose of stirring the pot?!
for real? this is the worst thing ever.
I’m going back to just posting instagram pics and asking for crowdsourcing help for the ppl I love.
this is bullshit.
why do I feel this way?