it-was-never-the-same

anonymous asked:

I feel so guilty for just eating. I probably didn't eat much today but I had quite a lot of junk (pizza and sweets). I feel so guilty about them even though I burned off around 300 calories exercising. People may thing the hunger is the worst about EDs but I think it's the fact that enjoying food will never be the same is the hardest. Cause every time I eat I think about gaining.

yup, you can’t just eat and not think about it. i feel like i’m betraying myself and it feels horrible

stay safe lovely ~

Stitches

When I stay at my parents’ house I sleep in the room of a girl I’ve never met. I am called by her name. I see her clothes in the closet and her things in the drawers. They don’t fit me anymore. I hold up the dresses, the T-shirts—did they ever fit me? And if they did, what was that girl like? I run my hands over the smooth surface of her life in my mind. Every thread is in place, but my rough fingernails snag and ruin it.

I can play pretend at being her if I try hard enough. She has my nose, shares my favorite color, cross stitches the rhythm of her thoughts like me. During the period where she blurred into me, we learned to sew. X’s in neat lines, rows of prayers.

Embroidery starts with intricacies, stitches I squint to see. They are never the same color as I expect at the beginning, numbered skeins of embroidery floss organized before use. Three stitches like my mother taught me. Secure the thread on the fabric. One for an anchor, two for luck, three for insurance. Always leave a tail of thread. The stitches must be small and perfect.

My mother taught me to sew, her mother taught her, it’s the earliest form of female self-expression. Women teaching girls teaching their daughters to create in careful, useful ways. Whip stitches, back stitches, cross stitches, the secret ways that women learned to survive.

I am not a woman; still the craft has been passed to me.

People on the street call me miss and ma’am and remind me of my needle and thread beginnings, how the tail dangles from the piece I’m working on and gets tangled. My heritage is cross stitched and hanging on the wall in my childhood bedroom, sewn by my pregnant mother twenty years ago.

           I hear my mother cry through the thin walls of her house, she asks God why did I have to be like this. What happened to her daughter. I ask God to take the damage out on me instead, spare her from what my existence does to her. In her eyes, I am burning; in her eyes, I am not enough.

When I was thirteen a distant ER doctor sewed my tear-stained chin up. Fell off a bike that I was too small to be riding, growing up too fast, trying to fly away. Saw my bone for the first time, jarringly white, like I was free of sin. The doctor numbed it, I sobbed. I can still feel the pull of the thread, the butterfly needle, the this won’t hurt a bit. Couldn’t sleep on my side for a week, my chin dripped mucous and antibacterial ointment. The stitches tickled for three days. I still have the scar.

My mother sat me down in the kitchen two weeks later and cut them out carefully, sewing scissors, healing flesh. A different kind of pull, like a bad spirit leaving my body. I trusted her; twenty years of embroidery made her hands sure.

Two years later I came out to my parents, sitting on the same kitchen chair. I played it off as casual—there are worse things to be—and didn’t meet their eyes.          

When I stumble across my dad’s search history, I see articles with titles like “Trans-Trending” and “Why So Many Millennials Are Bisexual” and “Just A Phase?” and it’s been five, almost six years. I know he’s still trying to make sense of it. I wonder why he can’t just ask me. I wonder why I can’t ask him either, why I whip-stitch my lips together when I go home to him. He talks about his daughter with pride in his eyes. I bite my tongue at the she and silently replace it with they.

I’ve never said anything, and I don’t know if I ever will. I’m afraid of the response I’ll get, ashamed to be stripped down to bone.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I dream about my grandmother’s delicate hands quilting scraps of fabric while her husband went on strike and her family ate mostly love. I watched her hands shrivel and falter, caught the needle as it dropped. It pricked my fingers crimson; she was buried with her thimble. The fabric she stitched lays over me during the night. There are too many holes to keep me warm; the wind sings it to shreds. I shiver and she places her hands over mine, the last of her warmth.  

I am sewing her skin to mine; she is living through my young and trembling hands. Intricacies, keeping us stitched together. My mother did the same thing, I think. She has a bookshelf of patterns, some she’ll never sew. I silently leave a space in my home for the patterns to become mine. The empty spot gathers dust, yawning at me. There are pieces to be rearranged on my walls, beautiful, finished works of needlecraft.

I try to become the front of the embroidery, carefully created without a stray thread. The back is not supposed to show once it’s finished, covered with felt or a frame. I try to become the front; I am and will always be the wayward ends and the furled knots with their blurry shape and messy colors.

I’m not what a woman should be. I’m not even what a woman is. I stitch the confusion into my work, try to make some sense of it by organizing patterns. My thoughts grind against each other like transverse faults. Healing comes slowly, if at all. I let the fading light stream through the blinds of my apartment window and warm my face.

I make do—intricacies, French knots, squares in circular feminine boxes.

 My mother looks as me like my queer body is dirty sometimes, trying but falling short of understanding. I try to see nobility in my queerness where my mother sees sin.

Soulmate Wonwoo

Part of the Seventeen Soulmate Series

Everyone has some sense of tangible connection to their soulmate. No matter how far away you are, they become a physical mirror through which your body experiences the world- your life a string tied with their own.

It’s a very abstract thing which even the greatest minds of the modern age find hard to define. All anyone really knows is that bound soulmates have some sort of bodily connection which seems to provide indicators of well-being and health. When one person is hurt or sick, the other feels an echo of the pain. When one person gets close to death, the other loses grip on their senses. If one person dies, well, the other will experience indescribable pain and then never be the same again…

But when soulmates are together, especially in physical contact with one another, the touch somehow provides healing. Not complete, but enough to make a difference.

Scientists link it back to all sorts of things- the evolutionary benefits of having a connection to your perfectly matched life partner and being able to monitor their survival even from a distance, and to help with it when close. The more spiritual among the population would call it a divine providence- something that gives you a soul deep connection to your destined other half. 

And those who are simply romantic minded? Well, they just seek comfort in the fact that they can feel the presence of their soulmate in every breath and beat of the heart. 

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anonymous asked:

your comment about joshua having unrequited feelings for caesar gave me a very vivid yet specific idea: joshua who went along with caesar’s plans because he was blinded by his own feelings because surely the man he loved couldn’t be all bad? surely there had to be something good and righteous in what they were doing because joshua wouldn’t love him otherwise? hell, maybe he even tries to impress caesar by acting as brutal as possible because he’s sure caesar always seems so proud of him after ->

[until it takes the failure of hoover dam for him to realize not only how fucked up the whole situation was but also that caesar never felt the same way about him. now, fast forward to the courier arriving in zion valley, and once again joshua is taken in by this brilliant, brash young man… which is when his old demons combine with good old christian guilt about how the last time he felt like this about someone, it ended up in blood. ->for extra angst points, joshua was quite a bit younger than caesar when they first met, and joshua and the courier have about the same age difference, so he’s doubly worried about “corrupting” this young man. idk sorry this got long and specific.]

awww yeah thats basically what i think about. i like joshua cause hes so emotional but tries to bottle it up and act all noble. i kinda wish he got more canon personality development… but i do really like filling in all the gaps

I’m sorry, but no matter how much anyone wants ReignCorp to happen, it will NEVER be the same as SuperCorp. Yes, Melissa was completely disrespectful, but that was the A C T O R. We ship two FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. Just because someone decides it’s okay to act in the way that Melissa did, it doesn’t take away from what goes on between Lena and Kara. That’s how I feel, anyway.

trashtwins  asked:

dude i just saw mulaney in huntington (sitting third row) and he looked me in the eyes during a bit and explained to me who ray lewis is. i'm never gonna be the same. i had extended eye contact with john mulaney i'm changed now.

Hahah it’s a lot I totally know how that feels!!!!

anonymous asked:

possible controversial opinion: while I believe any non-mlm can fetishize mlm, I think it's harmful to compare the effects of a straight women behaving this way, to a lesbian being fetishistic. Because while lesbians can objectify mlm relationships, they don't have the systematic power to use that behavior to oppress them. I just personally think it's a bit irresponsible because it makes it seem like lesbians can do the same damage to gay men that straight women can.

of course, lbp women will never have the same impact as straight women where fetishizing is concerned

however, many lbp women believe that their sexuality makes it entirely impossible for them to do any harm or fetishize mlm at all, which is untrue. they need to be held accountable, though acting like they’re on the same level as straight women is bogus

anonymous asked:

Anti needs constant reassurance that you love him. Because once he's committed he's COMMITTED and he doesn't mean to be annoying but he's just so anxious about it even though he'll never admit it.

I mean SAME HONESTLY

anonymous asked:

i'm excited to see if we get any kallura moments in s3 and if we do, i'm gonna die if the kl@nce shippers throw another fit and blindly hate on it because it's "heteronormative" and has "no chemistry". like calm down, fam. it was never that deep.

Same my man the meltdown will be a treat

You’re Beauty I’m Your Beast || Pt. 4

Author: Ivegot7scenarios

Genre: Romance/ Drama

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,491

Summary: Your relatively normal life is turned upside down when you find out that your father has been kidnapped by one of the city’s biggest crime bosses. You have no idea what to expect but you know that your life will never be the same.

[Masterlist]


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anonymous asked:

Yeah if you look at it in that sense Hinata definitely would make a better heroine but I just know kishi would treat her like trash he would never put her on the same level as the two males. Honestly I'm just really salty about how Hinata was treated in the last but I get it now it was romance movie so I guess we can let it slide.

I mean yea, she wouldn’t be on Naruto and Sasuke’s level because RIVALZ AND SHONEN but she at the least has the potential to be explored as a fully fleshed out character.

8

I’ve got a real story about Kiss, do you want to know? This is true.