My best friend is super brave. She has been struggling with severe mental health issues the entire time I've known her. And this past Sunday, she opened up about all of it in a social media post – all of it out there for everyone, her family, her friends from all stages of her life, to see. Can you imagine?? She said it had been on her mind so much that she needed to get it out and that after sharing her story, she felt tearful but relieved. I am still in awe of her, and the idea of opening up, sharing something of yourself that you normally keep hidden, inspired me.
It also freaks me out and I'm not as brave as my best friend, so I'm not sharing my story with everyone in my life. It's easier to do it here, where most people don't know my full name or my face or where I work or who my mom is. At the same time, it's not the same as screaming into a void, because I do feel like I have some sort of connection with some of the lovely people I've met here. A perfect middle ground, if you will.
If you know anything about me, you know I'm wordy and can't be short and to the point to save my life, so it's no surprise that this is going to be on the long side, too. But hey! As my best friend put it, I'm giving myself the "gift of openness and understanding."
I have an eating disorder. (And I'm going to be somewhat explicit about it, so if this is triggering for you, please take care and put yourself first.) I have never used these words before and even right now, part of me thinks that's bullshit. That I'm being overdramatic, trying to get attention. Because I'm fine! I'm not anorexic, I'm not bulimic, I'm just not the healthiest eater and don't really like the way my body looks, like almost all women everywhere ever.
But the fact is that I threw up my dinner tonight because I felt like I shouldn't have eaten it, or all of it, in the first place. This is what I do. I don't binge to then purge, but I throw up food when I feel disgusted with what I ate. I'm mad at myself that I don't have the self-control to just eat less, so instead I throw up what I regret. That can be the occasional junk food haul, the treat I was excited about when I picked it up and took it home (an excitement that turns sour quickly), or a nice dinner at a restaurant with friends. I've been hunched over the toilet in my favorite Mexican restaurant more than once, waiting for the woman in the other stall to leave so I could throw up without anyone overhearing.
The part of me that doesn't think I have a problem points out here that I don't do this all the time. I go for months at a time without throwing up at all. Years sometimes! (Other times, when it’s bad, I do it several times a week.) I first started doing this when I was 16. Before tonight, I haven't thrown up in a few weeks, and before that, probably two months. So, clearly not a problem!
Except that it's exhausting. I want to be able to have mediocre fries and chicken filet bites, or feel full and stuffed and happy without panicking about how all this food I just ate is going to make me gain weight. And on that – I would love to return to a place where I can tell what my body actually looks like. Because I have no idea anymore. I don't know what's normal anymore.
I look in the mirror from the side and will be destroyed because what I see is disgusting, even though I'm pretty sure (I hope?) that's not objectively true. Then I see a current photo of myself where I think I look good, or I catch a glimpse of myself and think "Hey, that's not too bad!" Then that same day I see my reflection in a window at the office and am horrified again. And I know, rationally, that it is not possible for my body to look completely different a few hours apart. That it's just in my head. But there's nothing I can do about it.
This distorted body image, unlike the throwing up, is relatively recent, something that crept up on me during the pandemic, and I'd love to go back to a time where I was happy with the way I looked. Which, by the way, wasn't that much different from now, I think. But I'm not sure.
I've gone on a couple of rants here about how mad I am about what society has done to women. How angry it makes me to see women feel like they have to starve themselves for love or approval or success because thinness is valued above all else. And I've talked about how that behavior is nothing to emulate. I hope all of what I've shared in this post today doesn't make me a hypocrite. I still stand by what I said earlier. The thoughts that are put into our heads by everything we see around us, the way it's drilled into girls and women, sometimes subtly and sometimes less so, that what matters most is our looks, is infuriating. It's hard not to let that get to you, and I guess I did, too. Even though the part of me that thinks I'm just being overdramatic says that my problem isn't society, it's just the fact that I am lazy and can't watch what I eat. But you know what? Fuck that girl. At least right in this moment, I can say that and believe it.
I feel better just having gotten all of this out for the first time. My best friend, the brave one, is the only person who knows about my eating disorder, and she encouraged me to do this. So I'm sharing this in her honor – cheers, girl. It's ok to be open. It's also fucking terrifying. But maybe it can help. And if you have something you feel you need to get out, if you feel inspired by my best friend too- my inbox is always open, for a private chat, an anonymous ask, whatever.
Aaaaand post 💌
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I've always found the end of Journal 3 a bit strange, but one of the specific things is ford throwing his journals into the bottomless pit. It's kinda cool as a concept, but it really doesn't make a whole lot of sense.
The bottomless pit basically makes it so the fate is unknown of whatever goes in. it could come back, it could end up somewhere else, or it could continue falling for eternity.
ford has attempted to hide his journals before, but they were all found. Gideon even dug up the 2nd one and used it to terrorize the town and even ford's own family.
so I don't think ford would be blind to these outcomes, its happened before why wouldn't it happen again? I think the thought of the journals falling through the pit and wounding up in the hands of someone more powerful than an 8 year old would be enough to keep him up at night. the forever uncertainty would kill him.
then I think, well maybe he would burn them with everything else?
however, I think it's important to remember how much these journals meant to him. despite the memories they carry now, they were once his sole confidant in six years of solitude.
even if ford felt any sort of connection to them now, he probably felt like he had to get rid of them.
he probably felt that his work was a burden to those he cared about. that he would have to make the sacrifice to part with them.
I think it would be a great dilemma for him. So I believe he gave them to someone. I think a lot of people would assume it would be Dipper, but to me what it comes down to is that it would have to be someone ford could fully trust.
it would be someone who could see the value in his work despite his mistakes. someone who could fully understand where his passion came from at the very start.
so i believe he gave them to fiddleford
I think fiddleford has had an interest in Ford's old journals ever since his memory started to recover. he remembers something new each time he reads them. fiddleford would be able to keep them safe, keeping ford's mind at ease knowing someone was keeping an eye on them.
and I think that would be enough for him
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Cassian pulled back, and remained that way long enough that she opened her eyes again to find his face inches from her own. "You're not going to marry Eris," he said roughly.
"No," she breathed.
His eyes blazed. "There will be no one else. For either of us."
"Yes," she wispered.
"Ever," he promised.
Nesta laid a hand on his muscled chest, letting the thunderous beating of the heart beneath echo into her palm. Let it travel down her arm, into her own chest, her own heart. "Ever," she swore.
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