♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

fall seven times, stand up eight

[mesharemylove]

[inkskinned]

“5 Reasons you should date a girl with an eating disorder: 1. “Her obsession over her body will improve her overall looks.” Her teeth are yellowing now. Your hands clench tight around your forearms, you peer through the darkness and whisper, “are you alright?” and her head bobs up and down so many times that you can hear her counting the calories of each movement behind those cold dead eyes and you say “do you want my jacket” and she’ll be shivering and say no she’s fine no she’s fine no she’s fine or maybe you lose sight of her at the party and when you ask her friend all you get is “she’s probably throwing up” and when you say “oh no oh no oh no” you’ll hear “it’s okay she does that a lot” how about this about yellow paper skin and hollow eyes and blue fingernails and skinny fat and bruised knees and fainting spells and a look of complete guilt because she just finished an entire meal how about that how about hair that comes off in flakes how about her tears as they stain your shoulder how about those late night texts that say “i think i’m gonna fucking kill myself” 2. “She costs less money.” Therapy and back again with no red riding hood just a bouquet of pills she popped into her mouth when she skip-hop-danced right off the path in the woods and met her wolf where he was waiting with wet jaws and hungry bellies and a siren that drowns out everything you’re saying because she’s thinking about when she gets to eat if she ever gets to eat if she never eats again it would be so good but at the same time she wants to eat everything that her fingers close over how many boxes of food has she bought that she threw away surreptitiously she will feel an ingredients list printed on her inside wrist and she will write “waste of everything” inside of it how many rice cakes diet pills laxatives gym memberships diet cokes cigarettes how many times can you touch her softly before she begs you not to put a hand on her thunder thighs mountain stomach cheeks that jiggle when she so much of thinks about running how many dinners she’ll turn down just to wait until the night gets dark enough that she can shove everything in the fridge into the tiny pocket of her skin how many stores can she stock up in how many scratch marks will you count on her body from where she has pinched her fat over and over and over 3. “She’s fragile and vulnerable.” You forget and you swing her into your arms but the minute her feet leave the ground her laughter turns into sobs she will thrash against you and beg to be put down because no matter how many times you tell her that you’re strong enough to carry her weight the one inside of her is unbearably heavy and stupid things will set her off like she is carrying a hand grenade she will shatter herself so many times her fingertips will peel back from all the glass cuts she gets trying to hold herself together long enough just to have a normal conversation because after four days of eating nothing she’ll call you and in a husky voice ask you to describe your dinner and you’ll hear her breathing over the line get deeper and one day after four hours of shoving her face with everything in reach she won’t call you at all because she’s a fat pig who doesn’t deserve love doesn’t deserve anything and she’ll chase down all of these feelings with so much liquor that she has an excuse to put her head in the toilet and when she finally starts crying it’s because she can’t get her gag reflex working and you will have no idea until you see the bruises on her hips the next morning where she swung down her fists until her hands shook too much to make a good impact she won’t let you save her she’ll crumble all over the place and keep telling you “please god stay away i love you can’t you see that i’m trying to save you from me” 4. “Probably has money of her own.” her parents won’t speak to her about anything but college applications and she thinks she triggers her sister just by existing and her friends might all have a bet going about how long it will take her before she either ends up in a hospital or ends up getting better and when she gives you gifts they will come with a steady heart that ends up with shaking hands because she’ll ask you if it was okay if it was a good choice if it’s something that you wanted if it was good enough and you’ll have to say yes every time until the word feels like a dead weight and she’ll keep asking anyway because she’s really saying is that she has given you herself but she knows that she’s decaf light, a coffee girl you signed up for that ended up being burnt and ground improperly she texts you at three in the morning about going for a run at four in the morning about sit ups and at five about how she hasn’t slept in so long that she forgets how to use a bed as someplace other than an early grave and when she does close her eyes it’s just to think about eating and how even though she wants to be normal in the background of her mind at all times is a quiet mp3 that whispers to her about not eating, her phone will come with more fitness apps than contacts she can beg for help from her laptop has sixteen tabs open and they’re all workout videos and dieting tips and clothes that she’ll buy once she’s the weight she’s always wanted she’ll erase her internet history like a pornography addict because people can’t know they can’t see that she’s dying how do you tell someone’s parents “i think your child is killing herself” when she looks perfectly fine in their eyes when last tuesday they told her she could lose some weight when all the binging has put more meat on her bones than her weak brain can carry 5. “She’s better in bed.” you can’t compliment her she won’t let you look at her she’ll beg you to just turn off the lights and fuck her so you forget how hollow it sounds every time you collide with her she’ll draw blood from you she’ll ask you to hit her to hurt her to call her names she’ll say these things and they’ll sound like dirty fun until she doesn’t let you kiss her lips because she’s staring at the ceiling letting you abuse her in the ways that her mind already does and she’ll get good and drunk before shedding her skin because she can’t think about the things that are shifting in between the cracks and she can’t think about how your hands don’t trace patterns on her hips or collarbones or stomach and whiskey is the only way she can pretend that you’re just overly passionate and not scared that if you put too much pressure on any soft place she’ll start crying again not that she cries loudly or anything but it’s been getting so bad that every time she’s on her back you can expect at some point she’s gonna shine with silent tears and tell you that it’s okay she’s fine she’s just thinking about something difficult keep going it’s okay she’s okay she’s never hated herself for eating for not eating for breathing for wishing she wasn’t breathing she has never hated you for loving her she’s okay she’s just on a diet because that’s what she deserves and when she talks about it with you she’ll call it “eating issues” as if food was just an obstacle and she is just not good enough at navigating to steer through that storm and she’ll never believe it that you love her she’ll tell you “i’m not who you think i am i’m a ghost girl i’m a liar please don’t love me” and is this beautiful is this girl beautiful are you even dating her or are you just the last bridge she has left to burn do you even love her do you even love her do you even know or has her disorder swallowed you whole?”

— I know it was a while since that horrific article about “Why you should date a girl with an eating disorder” was published, but one of my friends found it recently and it triggered her enough she called me crying and said “I am going to starve myself until I am back in the hospital and I don’t even want to do that I don’t want to be a monster.”  /// r.i.d (please don’t delete this text)

[inkskinned]

“I can’t live without my eating disorder.”

[inkskinned]

“I want to stop eating. I look at myself and I’m disgusted. I want to feel pretty. No one will ever fall in love with me.”

[inkskinned]

“Everybody keeps on telling me that I’m perfectly fine, but won’t be until I’m as thin as he is.”

[tanricaimera]

[scareone]

[athenastudying-deactivated20220]

how the fuck is it december this week 

[summer-paradise-in-bed]

[prestonhymas]

"AHH, WALTER, GET THE BUG"

"I am TRYING, HELEN”

[inkskinned]

5 Reasons you should date a girl with an eating disorder: 1. “Her obsession over her body will improve her overall looks.” Her teeth are yellowing now. Your hands clench tight around your forearms, you peer through the darkness and whisper, “are you alright?” and her head bobs up and down so many times that you can hear her counting the calories of each movement behind those cold dead eyes and you say “do you want my jacket” and she’ll be shivering and say no she’s fine no she’s fine no she’s fine or maybe you lose sight of her at the party and when you ask her friend all you get is “she’s probably throwing up” and when you say “oh no oh no oh no” you’ll hear “it’s okay she does that a lot” how about this about yellow paper skin and hollow eyes and blue fingernails and skinny fat and bruised knees and fainting spells and a look of complete guilt because she just finished an entire meal how about that how about hair that comes off in flakes how about her tears as they stain your shoulder how about those late night texts that say “i think i’m gonna fucking kill myself” 2. “She costs less money.” Therapy and back again with no red riding hood just a bouquet of pills she popped into her mouth when she skip-hop-danced right off the path in the woods and met her wolf where he was waiting with wet jaws and hungry bellies and a siren that drowns out everything you’re saying because she’s thinking about when she gets to eat if she ever gets to eat if she never eats again it would be so good but at the same time she wants to eat everything that her fingers close over how many boxes of food has she bought that she threw away surreptitiously she will feel an ingredients list printed on her inside wrist and she will write “waste of everything” inside of it how many rice cakes diet pills laxatives gym memberships diet cokes cigarettes how many times can you touch her softly before she begs you not to put a hand on her thunder thighs mountain stomach cheeks that jiggle when she so much of thinks about running how many dinners she’ll turn down just to wait until the night gets dark enough that she can shove everything in the fridge into the tiny pocket of her skin how many stores can she stock up in how many scratch marks will you count on her body from where she has pinched her fat over and over and over 3. “She’s fragile and vulnerable.” You forget and you swing her into your arms but the minute her feet leave the ground her laughter turns into sobs she will thrash against you and beg to be put down because no matter how many times you tell her that you’re strong enough to carry her weight the one inside of her is unbearably heavy and stupid things will set her off like she is carrying a hand grenade she will shatter herself so many times her fingertips will peel back from all the glass cuts she gets trying to hold herself together long enough just to have a normal conversation because after four days of eating nothing she’ll call you and in a husky voice ask you to describe your dinner and you’ll hear her breathing over the line get deeper and one day after four hours of shoving her face with everything in reach she won’t call you at all because she’s a fat pig who doesn’t deserve love doesn’t deserve anything and she’ll chase down all of these feelings with so much liquor that she has an excuse to put her head in the toilet and when she finally starts crying it’s because she can’t get her gag reflex working and you will have no idea until you see the bruises on her hips the next morning where she swung down her fists until her hands shook too much to make a good impact she won’t let you save her she’ll crumble all over the place and keep telling you “please god stay away i love you can’t you see that i’m trying to save you from me” 4. “Probably has money of her own.” her parents won’t speak to her about anything but college applications and she thinks she triggers her sister just by existing and her friends might all have a bet going about how long it will take her before she either ends up in a hospital or ends up getting better and when she gives you gifts they will come with a steady heart that ends up with shaking hands because she’ll ask you if it was okay if it was a good choice if it’s something that you wanted if it was good enough and you’ll have to say yes every time until the word feels like a dead weight and she’ll keep asking anyway because she’s really saying is that she has given you herself but she knows that she’s decaf light, a coffee girl you signed up for that ended up being burnt and ground improperly she texts you at three in the morning about going for a run at four in the morning about sit ups and at five about how she hasn’t slept in so long that she forgets how to use a bed as someplace other than an early grave and when she does close her eyes it’s just to think about eating and how even though she wants to be normal in the background of her mind at all times is a quiet mp3 that whispers to her about not eating, her phone will come with more fitness apps than contacts she can beg for help from her laptop has sixteen tabs open and they’re all workout videos and dieting tips and clothes that she’ll buy once she’s the weight she’s always wanted she’ll erase her internet history like a pornography addict because people can’t know they can’t see that she’s dying how do you tell someone’s parents “i think your child is killing herself” when she looks perfectly fine in their eyes when last tuesday they told her she could lose some weight when all the binging has put more meat on her bones than her weak brain can carry 5. “She’s better in bed.” you can’t compliment her she won’t let you look at her she’ll beg you to just turn off the lights and fuck her so you forget how hollow it sounds every time you collide with her she’ll draw blood from you she’ll ask you to hit her to hurt her to call her names she’ll say these things and they’ll sound like dirty fun until she doesn’t let you kiss her lips because she’s staring at the ceiling letting you abuse her in the ways that her mind already does and she’ll get good and drunk before shedding her skin because she can’t think about the things that are shifting in between the cracks and she can’t think about how your hands don’t trace patterns on her hips or collarbones or stomach and whiskey is the only way she can pretend that you’re just overly passionate and not scared that if you put too much pressure on any soft place she’ll start crying again not that she cries loudly or anything but it’s been getting so bad that every time she’s on her back you can expect at some point she’s gonna shine with silent tears and tell you that it’s okay she’s fine she’s just thinking about something difficult keep going it’s okay she’s okay she’s never hated herself for eating for not eating for breathing for wishing she wasn’t breathing she has never hated you for loving her she’s okay she’s just on a diet because that’s what she deserves and when she talks about it with you she’ll call it “eating issues” as if food was just an obstacle and she is just not good enough at navigating to steer through that storm and she’ll never believe it that you love her she’ll tell you “i’m not who you think i am i’m a ghost girl i’m a liar please don’t love me” and is this beautiful is this girl beautiful are you even dating her or are you just the last bridge she has left to burn do you even love her do you even love her do you even know or has her disorder swallowed you whole?

I know it was a while since that horrific article about “Why you should date a girl with an eating disorder” was published, but one of my friends found it recently and it triggered her enough she called me crying and said “I am going to starve myself until I am back in the hospital and I don’t even want to do that I don’t want to be a monster.”  /// r.i.d (please don’t delete this text)

[inkskinned]

The first time he kisses you, your body becomes an earthquake. His hands are warm against your back in the chill night air. He is soft at first, unsure, his breath rattling in his chest as if the smell of you is making his heart erupt. When you lean in, he kisses you with every ounce of pent-up desire he has been folding into his back pocket and saving for the right moment. He kisses you desperately, puts his hands to the side of your face, pulls you into him, presses you against the side of his car. You cannot breathe and your cheeks are bright pink and that moment stretches out like sunlight, you are both wild and all heat and quick bloodstreams and passion like hoofbeats. Dating him is a dream. Every moment seems as if it has been taken out of a romantic manual on perfection. The two of you are wrapped around each other as if you are one body. Your friends tease you and you roll your eyes. They wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be set on fire by him. The two of you discover each other and rediscover the world. Watching the mirror of museums in his eyes reteaches you art. Holding his hand reshapes your childhood park. Being with him is like learning you have always lived in darkness and finally here a torch. You dance around serious emotions. Neither of you wants to ask too much, to speak of the future lest your expectations muck it up. You live in the moment, you celebrate one-two-three-four month anniversaries with ice cream and nachos, you laugh at yourselves for the silliness of it. Neither of you admits there is something serious brewing between you, some deep emotion that trembles in your bones, something scarily foreign - and at the same time, terrifyingly familiar. You know. You know. This boy has become your love. Somewhere in the cute texts and cookies and tiny presents, he has built a home inside of you. On a night where the rain is pouring and the two of you are watching a train pass from the warmth of his car, you finally find the courage to say the words that scare you more than any other combination of eight letters. You open your mouth and are about to form the words when he kisses you along your jaw and whispers them in your ears, fear shaking his voice but certainty in each syllable and you want to call up the younger versions of yourself, so full of spite or hopelessness, so empty of faith; you want to say, “hold on, little one. You find him one day.”

Soft dies the light (part five of five) /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

[inkskinned]

You and he have entered the era of washing machines. This is the steady heartbeat. This is the synchronized breathing. This is sleepy summer afternoons where soft silence beads between you. You are familiar, you are touching only knuckles or ankles or elbows but still always somehow connected. You are looks passed to one another when newer couples fall in love in front of you, you are certainty in a changing world. You are linked hands and walks in the park discussing what sort of dog breed you’d be if you had been born as one. You are resting your head on his lap while he finishes his book and he is drawing patterns on your spine while you finally get around to answering your email. You are television marathons and eating more ice cream than either of you are terribly proud of. This is conversation less about secrets and more about passing the salt, this is comfort. You are sitting on a dryer and reading your English essay aloud, he is sorting laundry. You are making breakfast and he is falling asleep into his coffee. You agree to clean the kitchen if he will wash the dishes. He makes you pasta and you sit on the counter, strumming a guitar slowly. You play Wonderwall as a joke and he pretends to find it funny. He is the only one you feel safe in front of. You two are comfortably odd, letting out the scraps of your personality too weird for public but just weird enough for each other. You lick his jaw, he bites your collarbone, you both laugh and kiss and breathe in the taste of the other person’s amusement. You are not afraid to make a mistake. He loves you anyway. When the two of you fight, it is full of fire, full of pent-up, full of things you regret as soon as they crawl out of your mouth. But when the two of you fight, there is still a current below it: he loves me and I love him. This is certain. You fight, but you make up when the steam has cleared, you both apologize, you both forgive. You hug tight and sigh and feel good in the warmth that he gives. And when he kisses you, maybe it is not always the fevered passion of the first one, but it is always with love. Having him is closing your eyes and falling and knowing he will catch you. Having him is one part nights with bite marks and bruises and out of breath and one part smiling when he pulls you closer to him in his sleep and waking up from darkness to gentle kisses if he notices you’re nightmaring. It is simple. It is uncomplicated. It is not fancy or forced or even extremely poetic. It is plastic forks and being in your underwear and arguing about which radio station and having someone to take to parties, it is dumb gifts and changing lightbulbs and grocery trips and good lord, it is absolutely perfect.

Soft dies the light (part four of five) /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

[ruinedchildhood]

[justcatposts]

entertain me

[zinnia-apologist-deactivated202]

the hidden darkness within those beans

[princesstigerbelle]

Small but sinister……

[margbarcis]

@localmothgirl

[lesbian-serpent-rider]

BABEY

[idionymon-deactivated20191001]

Shes voguing

[armpitkink]

me: i’m stressed

someone: don’t be stressed

me: 

[inkskinned]

it's easier to say 'i am yours' than to admit 'i am nothing and this love is nothing'. fight or flight, but nobody ever talks about just freeze.

i have thought a lot about the demons that we know, the breath we take when we forget our lungs are asthmatic, 

oh how i stayed when i thought he was the best i could do,

oh how i stayed when i thought:this is as much as love can do

[inkskinned]

i am glorifying my own survival. keeping a journal of the miracles of small victories, praising myself for waking up, for brushing my teeth, for eating breakfast, for showering. i make up romantic notions about myself instead of picking at the loose seams. i write love poems to the person i know i can be.

some days i am painting gold on rot. some days i know i smell of death under the sugar perfume. some days i flicker between a drowning and a circus. but some days, some days. i catch myself in the mirror and i think: i’m so glad we lived to grow up.