powersofadjustment said: I am so glad to find people who aren't into the "we're all in this together, loves~" scene, it's so saccharine and annoying. We all know recovery is hard. It's dirty and mean and rough and sometimes you scream and cry and no amount of pretty pictures with pretty words on them will change that, you dig? We shouldn't be negative about recovery--recovery is a great thing to do. But I feel like dressing it up and romanticizing it is pretty immature. Any stranger calling me "dear" gives me bad vibes.
In fairness though I reblog some stuff like that. I like to have affirmations and things to look at when I’m not really feeling it. I think the material is okay, but the whole attitude like ED recovery is an autumn retreat for upper-middle-class 16/17 year-olds complete with a Starbucks, a comfy sweater, and your favorite young adult novel, I’m just not here for it. Why do we have to treat each other like that? Can’t we be real? You feel me? I hope you feel me.
I totally feel you. I send and receive affirming messages a lot, and I do reblog uplifting things quite often, but it really does become like an autumn retreat when it starts getting 1) generalized and 2) blindly optimistic.
When I find some text post in the tags that says “You are beautiful, please eat, lovely <3” I scroll right the fuck past it. It’s not specifically addressed to me, nor does it address any of the negative things going on in my mind. That kind of stuff has never spoken to me much, and if I see a ton of it, it gets me cringing a little.
The Valley of the Ten Peaks. Moraine Lake. #ScoutForth folks! Photo by nathanielatakorai just canoed the valley of the nine peaks last week!
Falling off a cliff can have the same theme and connotation as depression. As you begin to fall, anxiety fills your body due to the imminent impact of the rocks below. You continue to fall, however you begin to get comfortable with your surroundings, and in a way… you adapt to this new perspective. Falling seems… normal? …but you continue to head in a downwards direction. And then one day, you suddenly hit the rocks. Everything in your world falls to pieces. Everything that happened to you while you were falling suddenly is upon you and you break and you scream because all of that pent up sadness and anxiety and fear is finally catching up to you. And then you roll over, and try to stand up, because you tell yourself that you can keep going and that you can take on anything. But you manage to fall off another cliff and you repeat the process again. And you just keep falling, often for years at a time. There are days with the occasional smile, but you remember that you will always hit the rocks in the end.
self-respect is a weird word because you’d think it means “having respect for yourself” but it’s mostly used in terms of whether or not a person is acting in a way that makes them respectable to everybody but themselves.
And they say it like self esteem is something you can to a store and purchase off the shelf. Like some cream you rub on your skin every day for a week and you’re magically esteemified.
Sometimes things suck.
Looking on the bright side doesn’t always help. Positive thinking doesn’t always help. Gratitude and mindfulness don’t always help. Those things help in some situations, but they’re not a universal cure that will fix everything.
Noticing that things suck isn’t what makes them suck, and pretending that things are ok will not make them better.
Sometimes people act like it’s your fault for noticing, like if you’d just have a positive attitude, nothing would be bad. But it doesn’t work that way. Taking a positive attitude only fixes things when your attitude is the problem. Sometimes it isn’t.
Sometimes things really are that bad, and it’s ok to acknowledge that they are that bad. When things are actually bad externally, being realistic about what’s going on can make things a lot easier to manage.
(Even if, right now, you can’t see any way to make them better.)
Ha ha seriously tho.
I needed to hear this right now. <3
"I only have, like, 23 followers!" sighed the black-and-white blogger. "I feel like such a failure. It’s like people don’t realize how much work goes into building a half-assed aesthetic centered around glorifying misery.”
She scrolled through the black-and-white tags, looking for ideas. Her download folder was brimming with weirdly-cropped desaturated photos of slender white girls, but clearly that wasn’t enough. What she needed, above all, was bait. Something to bring the hungry little fishies to her blog.
Her need for followers was insatiable. It was deep and visceral, like hunger.
"Eureka!" she cried. "I’m starving for attention, so maybe I can get some from people who are literally starving!”
She typed the names of the only two eating disorders she knew and hoped for the best.
Her Activity squiggle grew ever squigglier, but the black-and-white blogger wasn’t content. Her photos of dead flowers were getting buried by shit that was actually related to eating disorders, and worse — other black-and-white bloggers. She was not about to stand for this. She was my-super-tragic—life-88lbs—-, after all, and she was not about to mingle with such rabble.
Desperate, she typed her tags in ever so slowly, waiting for the “Popular Tags” section to give her inspiration. Finally, her balm of Gilead — foreign languages and deliberate misspellings. Here, thought the black-and-white blogger, is an exclusive club. These are people with refined tastes. Here I will truly be appreciated.
Her follower count grew.
The reblogs flowed like wine.
Her Activity squiggle couldn’t seem to stop squiggling.
And finally, one day, the black-and-white blogger saw her own avatar near the top of the tags and sat back, glowing with ecstasy.
She had done it. She had all the followers.
She felt electric with power. Still buzzing with energy, she desaturated a picture of some chick’s neck in Photoshop.
"Black and white blog," she whispered as she uploaded it. "XO, motherfuckers."
That is some embarrassingly bad photoshop.
those ribs be like
And I know you think we can’t see where you clone-stamped the wall to cover up the terrible job you did shaping her side, but we can see where you clone-stamped the wall to cover up the terrible job you did shaping her side.
Also, be aware the police may be showing up at your door on a domestic dispute call because you have been abusing the shit out of that poor liquefy tool
Oh, and next time, remember to do your shitty fake rib shading on the non-mirror girl, too.
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