[drunk-on-writing]

back in august 2020, i got the idea to write, in depth, about something i hadn’t really written about before: my recovery from an eating disorder. two years, eight months, and one hundred and five pages later and my little passion project is no longer just mine. now, it’s out in the world for you to read 🦋

if you’re looking for an honest recollection of what it’s like to recover from (but still live with) an eating disorder, then this book is for you! i poured my heart into each and every poem and my hope is that it finds a home in someone the way it’s found a home in me 🩵

so happy to say y’all can finally check out SKELETON!!

[drunk-on-writing]

we joined hands as if to pray before lacing our fingers together and thrusting them to the sky

i feel sweat drip down my neck like a baptism and when the lights go out, i’ve been reborn

i remember how we sang into hairbrushes and now we can scream into his mic as he held it out to the crowd

tears flowing like confetti falling from the sky

our throats are raw and our backs ache and our makeup is smudged but we’re happy

god, we’re so fucking happy

and isn’t that what it’s all about?

we’ve been biblically saved by something no one can touch

not just because it’s out of reach but because it’s so much bigger than we could ever dream to be

and we’re all pieces of it

being a part of something bigger than you ever will be

but knowing that the space you occupy in this is just as instrumental as anyone else’s

is truly something holy

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

jessie paege says she doesn't want to romanticize recovery

and they're right recovery isn't always smiles and sunshine in fact, sometimes recovery is shit and being sick is so much easier

what's familiar is almost familial and being stagnant is safe

sometimes i hate recovery more than i hate that i'm a person who needs to recover in the first place

and i think that right there is the hardest - maybe even the worst - part of recovery; it's heartache until a heart attack unless you choose to restart your own heart with your own two hands because no one else can do it for you it's never like the movies or the books it is uniquely yours and only you can jump start it into life the same way only you can save your own life

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

the boy is a bird a bird with a broken wing still determined to fly to fly into the sun the boy is the sun the boy burns bright no one can look at him no one can really see him the boy doesn’t want to be seen wants to hide in the shadows wants to disappear like a father wants to hide while he hurts the boy hurts a heavy kind of hurt an invisible kind of hurt the boy hurts and hurts and hurt and hurts like a bird with a broken wing like a sun that can’t shine like a father that leaves

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

i know my mother loves me because every morning i wake up, there’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, even on the days where she isn’t having any / because i wake up to text after text, videos and pictures and links, all to say that she thought of me while i was sleeping / because i grew up believing in the tooth fairy and santa claus / because she pulls me out of bed to see the sky at sunset at the first hint of hue in the clouds / because when all i want to do is dig my heels into the earth and resist any movement, she pushes me forward — which is not to say that she wants me to pretend that i’m not hurting, but that she doesn’t want the hurt to hold me back / because i grew up to be empathetic and silly and creative just like she is / just like she made me to be.

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

can you see right through me? (after taylor swift)

i am not above begging to be seen when every scream that erupts from my throat comes out like a whisper a gentle rustling of leaves in the wind’s wake i, too, am only seen if someone bothers to look at me can anyone bother to look at me? i am here i am here i am a caricature of a person who knows what to do and what to say — don’t you see? i am a slab of clay taking shape of whatever i’m needed to be — don’t you see? i am no more myself than i am everyone else — don’t you see that maybe there’s nothing to see? maybe i am only as visible as i am present but i have not been present since i first heard the my thoughts as something more than static or background noise the tunnel inside my mind grows darker around the edges the louder my thoughts get and i don’t even realize how deep in the tunnel i am until someone waves a hand in front of my face, asking “are you there?”

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

THE KEY TO STICKING AROUND

is remembering you don't have to promise anyone five more years, but try promising yourself five more minutes. just five minutes. because in five minutes you can listen to a song you can't remember the last time you heard, and

the key to sticking around is realizing that you still remember every single word.

the key to sticking around pre-ordering your favorite author's next book.

the key to sticking around is proofreading, because typos cause misunderstandings and you've been misunderstood for far too long so why not take a moment to make sure there's nothing in the lines to read between? you can't rewrite who you are but

the key to sticking around is remembering you can still control your story.

the key to sticking around is sitting on your hands because the only crescents you should see are the phases of the moon at night.

they key to sticking around is remembering that right here, right now, may not be your favorite season - but that doesn't mean it isn't coming. you just have to wait a little while longer. and i know, i know, waiting is the hardest part but every 'x' through a square is another day closer to changing the calendar. all you have to do is stick around.

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

grief is a beast and i am the neck it sunk its teeth into i am the body it tore its claws through i am the victim of its recent crimes it tears through what was once a peaceful village leaving carnage in its wake though the town raised their pitchforks and held fire in hand there was no running grief out of town the beast roared and raged and here i am, the remnants of its rampage: bloodied and bruised but still breathing

(cc, 23)

[drunk-on-writing]

eight haikus for gilbery baker, cc 23 (inspired by mitrid)

[drunk-on-writing]

yall heard bobby ;)

[drunk-on-writing]

“MY BODY HAS BEEN / THROUGH HELL AND BACK AND SURVIVED/ I SHOULD THANK HER MORE” — skeleton by Courtney Carola

photos by ZanetaLacole Photography

[drunk-on-writing]

a woman’s rage is often bleached; when she sees red, the world sees pink. because what is a woman’s rage if not a cat being declawed? when she tries to scratch, it's adorable the way her paws stretch with the desire to slice skin and all that comes of her rage is a softened blow. a joke that doesn’t land. because a woman’s rage is a punchline. when she sheds tears of anger the audience cries with laughter. they point and jeer as if her choler is comical. as if the blood that pours from her throat with every scream is simply just corn syrup. a woman’s rage stains every inch of skin it touches. every piece of furniture it lands on. a woman’s rage is a crime scene, and she is the star witness and the prosecutor all at once. and when her rage is on trial, she is the jury of her peers. when the crack of a gavel lands like a thunderstorm we’re reminded that a woman’s rage is like lightning; seen but not heard. blinding and captivating. a man’s rage is thunder — it will scare you. but a woman’s rage could kill you.

(cc, 2023)

[drunk-on-writing]

if you like any of these quotes half as much as i do you might like my book “skeleton” — avail now! 💀🦋

[drunk-on-writing]

THE STRAIGHTEST THING I’VE EVER DONE

is allow a girl to slide her hands down the front of my pants and think it still meant that i was just “one hell of an ally”

her hand held my breast while i held onto my heterosexuality i gripped it like sheets fists tight knuckles white all the while my back arched away from the familiarity of what i believed to be true about myself but still found myself coming down into it

there was nothing remotely straight about my high school years

i spent late nights playing truth or dare just so i could kiss a pretty girl without saying i wanted to kiss a pretty girl

sleepovers were less about sleeping and more about waiting until we were home alone (and the few times we couldn’t wait) for curiosity to eat the cat

curious that’s what we called it

we just wanted to know what it was like it didn’t mean anything it didn’t have to mean anything

sometimes i can still feel her nails on my back i don’t even have to try too hard to remember just like i can still remember how convinced i was that i wasn’t even the slightest bit not-straight

it’s funny looking back now the flags weren’t red or green but rainbow all along

(cc, 2023)

[drunk-on-writing]

friendship

is a hymn in a stained glass room the prayer i never spoke aloud but was still answered anyway

friendship is the reason i got down on my knees and what lifted me up again

friendship is patient and kind and greedy and gluttonous and the cloth over my nose as i go underwater underwater underwater

friendship is a hymn i know by heart but never learned the words to

(cc, 2023)

[drunk-on-writing]

the weenkd sang "die for you" and halsey sang "die 4 me" and joji sang "die for you"

but i want you to live for me. if you love me, stay alive so i don't have to search for you in the breeze that flows through the trees or the sunlight that breaks through the clouds. stay alive so i can tell stories that don't have a final chapter - at least, not yet. if you love me, then don't die for me. dying is easy; living is a war and i want you to fight. living is a poem that none of the greats have yet to capture in ink but you're writing sonnet after sonnet with every breath you take. living is a serenade and i want to listen to your song day in and day out. i don't want you to die for me because i love you too much to lose you.

(cc, 2023)

[drunk-on-writing]

Early reader copies of "skeleton"!!!

hello!! my name is courtney carola -- or cc if ya nasty (lol jk but i do go by cc online) -- but you may also know me as 'drunk.on.writing'

hi loves!! i'm currently looking for potential readers who're interested in receiving an early copy of "skeleton" in exchange for an honest review! if this is something you think you'd be interested in, please check out my google form for more information!! :)