Strong at the Broken Places


“If someone called me chubby, it would no longer be something that kept me up late at night. Being called fat is not like being called stupid or unfunny, which is the worst thing you could ever say to me. Do I envy Jennifer Hudson for being able to lose all that weight and look smokin’ hot? Of course, yes. Do I sometimes look at Gisele Bundchen and wonder how awesome life would be if I never had to wear Spanx? Duh, of course. That’s kind of the point of Gisele Bundchen. And maybe I will, once or twice, for a very short period of time. But on the list of things I want to do in my lifetime, that’s not near the top. I mean, it’s not near the bottom either. I’d say it’s right above “Learn to drive a vespa,” but several notches below “film a chase scene for a movie.”


Okay? Okay.

There is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.


Okay? Okay.

There is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

Isaac: Augustus Waters was a self-aggrandizing bastard. But we forgive him. We forgive him not because he had a heart as figuratively good as his literal one sucked, or because he knew more about how to hold a cigarette than any nonsmoker in history, or because he got eighteen years when he should've gotten more.
Augustus Waters: Seventeen.
Isaac: I'm assuming you've got some time, you interrupting bastard.
Isaac: I'm telling you, Augustus Waters talked so much that he'd interrupt you at his own funeral. And he was pretentious: Sweet Jesus Christ, that kid never took a piss without pondering the abundant metaphorical resonances of human waste production. And he was vain: I do not believe I have ever met a more physically attractive person who was more acutely aware of his own physical attractiveness.
Issac: But I will say this: When the scientists of the future show up at my house with robot eyes and they tell me to try them on, I will tell the scientists to screw off, because I do not want to see a world without him.
An Interesting Reflection

(Or At Least I Think It Is)


I created this blog a little less than three and a half years ago to talk about the things I didn’t feel comfortable sharing with the people I know in “real life.” Mainly, my delightfully and/or disturbingly (depending on the day) messed up body and brain. You know, that whole spoonie thing. It started off as a safe place to express all of the things I was too afraid to divulge to those who really knew me. I told no one about this blog, so I was anonymous in a way I never had been before.

Then I made friends, and I got to know those friends. I wouldn’t change that for the world. Have I lost touch with a lot of them? Yes. Of course. I think that’s a pretty natural occurrence in your 20s. You fall in and out of touch with people as time passes and the circumstances of your life change. That doesn’t mean they’re not still truly special to me, though. The people I have “met” through this blog have changed my life in a way that I will never be able to explain.

The only down side to befriending such remarkable people on this remarkable site is that I was stripped of my anonymity. The closer I became with people, the less I felt free to express anything and everything that was on my mind and happening in my life. I never wanted to seem like I was talking about any of my followers/friends or reveal too much about someone else. I didn’t want it to be completely obvious who I was referencing when I referenced someone. It became a little harder to navigate. That’s all. I never wanted to violate anyone’s trust, embarrass someone, share things about someone that he/she didn’t want shared, etc. 

It got harder and harder as different things happened and different relationships (d)evolved in lots of different ways.

This is no longer a safe space to discuss the things I don’t feel comfortable sharing with people in “real life.” That’s the main reason I don’t post on this blog anymore, and I’m just now realizing how sad that makes me. In addition to losing the one space where I felt comfortable sharing all of myself, I lost my tumblr family. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough… I don’t know.

I’ve been afraid to post anything! How sad is that? I’ve been afraid of offending someone, hurting something, being judged, having assumptions made, seeming inconsiderate or heartless, exposing things that should potentially be kept private…

I don’t regret making the friends I made. Establishing those relationships and making those connections has made me a much better person than I was before.

It’s just so sad…

It was strange how your brain could know what your heart refused to accept.
J.K. Rowling, The Casual Vacancy (via creatingaquietmind)


Do you ever just wake up in angry chronically ill cripple mode?

Because if you do those feelings are 100% valid.


I am worth the space I inhabit

I am worth the air I breathe

I am worth the time I take

I am of worth

I fight Rape Culture because
When I told my ex boyfriend about my rape
He ‘forgave’ me.

I fight Rape Culture because
I saw my baby sister age overnight
As she told me about her best friend getting molested.

I fight Rape Culture because
My closest friend was abused as a child
And he told nobody but me.
It took him 13 years to open up.

I fight Rape Culture because
My friends admit to letting their partners fuck them when they don’t want it
Then laugh it off as typical male behaviour.

I fight Rape Culture because
Saying that you’re raping someone is perfectly acceptable
If you’re playing a video game.

I fight Rape Culture because
Men tell me they are insulted when women walking in front of them start to walk faster.
As if their ego is more important than our safety.

I fight Rape Culture because
If I tell somebody their rape joke isn’t funny
I am told that I’m uptight.

I fight Rape Culture because
It won’t die out
Unless we kill it ourselves.

I Fight Rape Culture (via lomticks-of-toast)