Look, I am rarely (IF! ever) going to be the woman who looks like a magazine. I equate make-up and doing my hair with ballet recitals— I don’t want to be on stage in my daily life. I happen to like, and sincerely appreciate, the little spots of excess skin and fat I have. Yea, I appreciate the fat I have. After having an eating disorder for six years, I appreciate that my body likes me enough to function healthily. I like my ass, and that little crease of fat at the base of my back where my hips meet-up with my ribs. After six years of trying to destroy my corporal (and emotional) self, I still retain enough fat to healthfully have a baby one day. That is not the case for women I personally know, so I know enough to be grateful.
I make sardonic, sarcastic, dirty, sometimes potty humor jokes. I will laugh so hard that I fall down, in public. I make little quips that probably shouldn’t be said in public. In public. My face expresses everything I am feeling. Often, it contorts into interesting, and very un-photo-op expressions. I enjoy that. I like that my friends can read my face, and I don’t have to say a single word. I enjoy seeing if I can get my friends to spit out their drinks or snort-laugh. I enjoy laughing so loud that people look.
I am at once intensely private, and yet astonishingly open: Thus, you know of the current depression and anxiety, and that I can vividly describe the way it feels to purge but would rather never experience it again. You know the skeletons of my family, but am aware that my desire to protect them keeps me from letting you all the way into our little club. That feeling that I am not telling you everything is correct. But I am not lying to you, and I am not withholding anything that directly impacts you. And you can rest assured that I am both intensely loyal, and morally opposed to any infidelity.
I know all the words to quite a few Disney songs, arias from operas, and random rap songs. I unconsciously do choreography to certain parts of “The Nutcracker”… I dance in public anyhow.
I don’t have amazing breasts, although they grew recently and I am amazed by them… Where did they come from? No, really. I don’t have an amazing ass, but I happen to love that I have one at all (props to my paternal Portuguese grandma for passing it on). And no, I will not ever consider losing weight just to please you. I will not ever consider any physical change just to please you. Nor will I change my style of dress. It changes weekly anyhow.
I will however call you on your shit. Every time. Compassionately, but I will do it. I will also bake you things when you need a pick me up, or if it is a special occasion, or because I had twenty minutes and was bored… and wandered into the kitchen. I will back you up in an argument, or mediate if need be. I will argue with you about the inherent misogyny in our culture if you try to convince me it doesn’t exist. I will show up completely overdressed and looking stunning for a lunch date at some little sandwich shop. I will steal your shirts. You won’t care because they will be all I wear to bed and around the apartment. I will buy you a scarf when it gets cold.
I will listen to Ellie Goulding at full blast and sing along. I will do this with many other options as well. Some of them you will like. I might turn it down if you ask. Then again, I might lovingly flip you off and close the door to whichever room I am in.
I will curse just as often as I will obfuscate what I am saying with random academic nomenclature. I will rattle off random things I have learnt/read about. Often about evolution. It’s okay, it’ll usually link up with dinosaurs.
I will make horribly dark jokes. At some point, creepy social experiments or a joke about eating babies/old people will fall into the conversation.
I will become horribly dark if you ever withhold sex. On the bright side (pun intended), I won’t ever withhold sex.
There are some things I can concentrate on for hours. There are instances in which I will behave much like a sugar-laden five year old.
I will ignore you for an afternoon to read.
I will, inevitably, have a visceral reaction to something. Note that if I walk out of a immensely violent movie, I am not being a baby. I am trying not to throw up near you.
I coo over babies. And puppies. And kittens… and pretty much anything at an infantile stage. I am the girl who plays peek-a-boo with crying babies in stores to get them to stop crying. For the love of all that is good and holy, do not want to have babies with me. My ovaries try to run up my spine when people ask when I intend to have kids. I am twenty-four. Too young.
Sometimes, I clean everything. Sometimes, I never put my laundry away. Still, my closet is organized by color and type/length. And I always do the dishes.
I am needlessly defensive. I try to avoid jealousy, but have a very low tolerance for certain behavior. I don’t have the energy to stay if I am worried about being cheated on. Not again. I am not shutting you out when I shut down. I am taking time to figure out how to even talk about something that makes me uncomfortable. Pushing me will never work.
I play stupid games. Like refusing to admit that I kind of adore you. And you won’t ever read this. But if you were to: this is who I am. I’m not always happy, I am too neurotic to be “go-lucky”. I sometimes doubt myself so much that I put off my dreams and goals for months at a time. I go to a therapist willingly. I do try, very hard, to be enough. However, with you, I don’t feel like I am. So read this, figure it out, and know that if you (like others in the past) pick at one of the things above… I will be gone. Because I just don’t have the energy to be anyone beyond myself anymore.
(I actually like Nicki Minaj, but this shit is hilarious)
Bon Iver:And I told you to be patient, and I told you to be fine. I told you to be balanced, and I told you to be kind, but now all your love is wasted. And then who the hell was I?
Death Cab:So one last touch and then you'll go and we'll pretend that it meant something so much more. But it was vile, and it was cheap and you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Yeah, you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me
Radiohead:But I can't help the feeling I could blow through the ceiling if I just turn and run. And it wears me out... It wears me out. If I could be who you wanted, if I could be who you wanted all the time... all the time.
Brand New:You are calm and reposed, let your beauty unfold. Pale white like the skin stretched over your bones, spring keeps you ever close. You are secondhand smoke, you are so fragile and thin standing trial for your sins. Holding onto yourself the best you can. You are the smell before rain, you are the blood in my veins.
Nicki Minaj:You a stupid hoe, you a you a stupid hoe. You a stupid hoe, you a you a stupid hoe. You a stupid hoe, you a you a stupid hoe. You a stupid hoe, you a you a stupid hoe. You a stupid hoe, yeah you a you a stupid hoe.You a stupid hoe you a you a stupid hoe. You stupid stupid, you a stupid hoe