Because Being Not-Skinny Doesn’t Suck

Yesterday, on the bus, I was window-seated in a high-waisted skirt and my Billie Holiday crop top that I cut from an old sleeping shirt, an eclipse of almost-tan skin exposed and gifted to the world, from me, on a day I felt powerful.  I felt brave, for me, for transcending fourteen years of body hate for this inch-wide space of freedom & permission to be.  To be like a thin girl.

After twenty minutes on the bus, I noticed a murmur of ache in my low back and my body, suddenly anxious, had become forgetful in our long-perfected art of breathing.  I paused the stream of inner-narration and took inventory of my nerves and their weak places.

I realized I had been sucking in my flamboyant gut all day and, it seemed, reasonably so, that my body was tired of it.  The truth is, I’ve been sucking in my stomach for fourteen years just to appear millimeters thinner.  It had become, I realized, no longer a conscious decision for me but instead a reaction in symbiosis between my body and my anxiety, like squinting when the sun is in your eyes.  Except the sun had been in my eyes for over half my life.

My head said, “this is ridiculous.  Let yourself be.  As much as you’ve allowed yourself to be when you were starving.”

In my life, it’s always been easier being alive when I was thin.  Partially because of a rental storage unit of baggage, where I keep mostly memories of my mother and of mirrors, but also because of things like this — sucking it in.  It has continuously sent a subconscious and unintentional message to myself that my body is not good enough when it is simply still.  When it is just a body being a body.  My body wasn’t allowed to make the thirty minute commute to therapy without attempting to be millimeters thinner. 

And who is that for?  Obviously not for me!  The confidence derived from moments where my beauty has been affirmed when I am sucking in, or plastered with concealer, or shaved or spandexed-in has never felt real. (it’s why, I think, I feel most happy and allowed to be human in the woods, sweaty and with dirt on my hands)  Because those affirmations, however fleetingly pleasant, affirm a harmful thought:

that I am not beautiful without these things.

And, excuse me, but — F U C K .  T H A T .

I think, like many women/humans with body-centric negativity, our stomachs are a Grand Central Station of anxiety, the Achilles’ heel of our self-esteem.  If I continue sucking this stomach in, I will never get to rest fully in this miracle body.

So, I tried.  To un-suck.  It was — really — hard.  My body would relax for seconds before my stomach muscles, such devoted learners, twitched and pulled the whole shebang rib-close.  Again and again I tried and again and again my body’s muscle memory, anxiety, and heirloom-ed body hate overpowered my efforts and forbid more than a few moments of relief, from myself.

It is hard as fuck to unlearn what you don’t even remember learning.  Something as obvious as closing your eyes to sleep.  When I am awake, I suck it in.

Sitting there, I felt anxious - nervous - shame - a little disgust.  How could I be doing this?  In public?  Showcasing the curve of my gut when the whole world says that it is supposed to be flat as bone.  I let my gut go round and (it felt) as if the whole bus snapped to attention — like when you fart or say “fuck” just as a loud scene in a crowded movie theater goes silent.  People were plugged into their iPods, into their own thoughts, lives, conversations, they didn’t know or care that I was at the forefront of my own pride parade in the blue seat next to the window flirting with a panic attack.

I didn’t get off the bus a changed woman, a bonafide deserter of my own body-hate, but I did land on the sidewalk with a self-awareness that can now be my advocate against myself when my conscious and subconscious habits attempt to brainwash me into thinking I am anything but fucking awesome.

Today I walked to work, down a street with peering window reflections and I let my gut relax.  Be round.  Full.  Momentous.  Quake.  At one moment, I saw myself in a storefront where I have before looked and felt disappointed / shameful / disgusting and I felt

I felt free.
And it felt real.

The girl inside me who starved and hurt and hated deserves rest.  She deserves to feel allowed.  She deserves my permission.  I am done with empire-waisted dresses for the sake of camouflaging my fat.  I am done with wearing leggings that suck it all in.  I am done with avoiding horizontal stripes.  I am done with devoting any energy at all to finding Spanx.  I’m done with the word “flattering” because entirely FUCK the idea that anything can be unflattering.

  I am done saying “no” to my body, in words or in actions.

My body is a body.  Bodies are beautiful.  Anything else I have ever learned was bunk.

******~*!!*#$@%%**√ 3 DAAAYYS. !!! √**%%@$#*!!*~******

none touchin on my face.

I feel like so many spaces in my life that held darkness have had the windows blown open. Thank thank thank thank THANK GOD / ME / HOPE.

I did not pick my face today.

This is not indicative necessarily of what is to come because I had my hands so busy on moving today. But. Still. I have not gone an entire day in twelve years. I feel. Outside of all the right words.





Aaron Hill is a disabled boy in Okeechobee who was lured out of his home by a girl claiming to want to go on a date. Once to the location she chose, he was ambushed by Andrew Wheeler and a gang of at least 8 other people. Andrew beat him senseless, held a knife to his throat, And told him he was going to shoot and kill him. This was filmed the whole time, but currently this is the only video I can get a hold of. The video was on Andrew’s facebook and he went around bragging about his crime. He was arrested, but only charged with minor assault and no charges or arrests are being made on the others involved. Some of the others involved have family in the Okeechobee police department and also DCF. One of the parents even destroyed evidence to protect their guilty little brat. So now the Okeechobee Police Department are trying to bury this story because some of the kids have ties to the department. We’re asking everyone to spread this around that we want justice for Aaron, that if anyone has a copy of the video please take it to the media. We need all media outlets to know this is a cover up and we will not accept it. Please download and spread this video. We’re using the hashtag JusticeForAaron.

PLEASE, if you have it, PLEASE make a copy and take it to all media, ALL MEDIA, not just Okeechobee I’m talking surrounding counties. This is extremely important. Aaron and his mother are getting death threats and they deserve justice. We need more people! Okeechobee is a little town run by the Good Ole Boys. Ferguson is allowing them to think this is okay. News channel 25 contact them at or 5616942525! We need this to blow up to make this stop. In the wake of Michael Brown and the others that have been hurt by police, we cannot let them bury this like a bunch of crime lords. Their job is to protect us, not protect the guilty from justice. And by the way there’s been ANOTHER unarmed black man killed by police. He was shot in the back and he was complying with police orders. He was also mentally handicapped. This. Needs. To. Stop.

Please, signal boost the HELL out of this. #JusticeForAaron



What the fuck is wrong with people?

(via reademdiaries)

Hi.  Most of you know, my name is Misian.  I am twenty four.  What none of you know is that I live with dermatillomania.  You know I’m a writer but this is by far the scariest-what-the-fuck-heart-drops-out-stomach-drops-out-ass sentence of my life.  I’ve only told four people outright, a couple of others know in the same way you always see somebody with a beer in their hand, the alcoholism is implied but you never see the dark side of it.  I was standing in front of the mirror tonight picking and feeling like a worthless ugly overwhelmed helpless shitball for it when it occurred to me that the shitballness stems from the fact that I think I can hide my face / what I do to my body / shame.  So.  I figured if I showed you, the INTERNET, then who would I have left to hide from?  What shame then?

Tomorrow is moving day and tonight is my last night in this house.  I have picked for almost twelve years and I’m thinking maybe I won’t ever pick again in my new house.  Once, I quit smoking for over a year because I decided to quit on Flag Day.  It was a holiday!  The worthiness of such a benchmark was nearly tangible!  So.  Maybe tomorrow will be my Flag Day.  Or I’m waving a flag?  I surrender.  I don’t want to do this anymore.  I’ve never wanted to do it but I don’t want to be a person who does this anymore.  I don’t want to be this person to myself anymore.  It’s been twelve years of a whole lotta pain and (so much) shame I’ve directed solely at myself.  It’s hard to imagine who I could be without it.

I’m terrified in four seconds I’ll feel like this is the stupidest (yes, stupid-est) thing I’ve ever done.  I don’t know if it’ll help but it’s worth a try. 


Nothing is going to change until people with privilege defend the lives of those without privilege as much as they defend their own.

Because I Am Not Black in America

This morning I woke anxious, on a quiet street.  
This morning I woke, because I slept, because I spent nine hours dodging bad dreams instead of rubber bullets.  
This morning I dreaded cleaning my house while Tom Tucker voluntarily
picked up tear gas canisters and plastic zip cuffs,
because I do not have to work for the good name I’ve been given.  

This morning I woke too busy with logistics for revolution.  
This morning I wrote fragile on boxes of small plates and second-hand crystal
knick-knacks while the Black mourning human beings in Ferguson received less care.  

This morning I wished for more time to drink coffee slowly, because my skin is white
enough to allow me anxiety over small things, because this albatross of injustice in Missouri
is a hobby I can choose whether or not to partake in.  

I awoke this morning white enough to decide whether or not I want to focus on the news;
headlines; flash grenades; AR-15 rifles making targets on the chests of protestors; Martial Law; steak-raw wounds on a Black man’s neck;
how Michael Brown steeped in his own hot blood because he was Black and not for any other reason;
how a dead Black man is less work than the paperwork it would take to arrest him,
how gunning down a Black man is better safe than sorry,
how the President is Black
and can only ask for inquiries;
how making a stand against gun violence when it happens
in white schools
is admirable, how making a stand on gun violence against Black bodies
by white men
in uniform
would make him too Black
for the white men
in uniform
who keep him
in office.

This morning I awoke white enough to not be the news or body bag.
This morning I felt the tug of memory to 2011 when I protested
at the Wisconsin State capitol for months on end and how, at one point,
there were 100,000 of us and they still never called it
a riot.

This morning I woke heavy as a billy club, or what I think
might be heavy as a billy club, because my body is white
and has never had to know.

This morning I woke, because I am not dead.
I am not dead because I woke white in America.

This morning I woke with a small part of me still believing that most cops want to help
and not kill me, because that is true, because I am seen as a white woman.  

Because I am a white woman I get to believe in old age.
Because I am a white woman I still think German Shepherds are cute.
Because I am a white woman my family will never have to defend my right to exist.
Because I am a white woman Ferguson and Little Rock are not the same in my memory.
Because I am a white woman Strange Fruit is a song and not a narrative.
Because I am a white woman I am living in America and not waiting to die.
Because I am a white woman I will never be assumed to be armed and dangerous. 

Because I am a white woman I have never thought that my brother
would walk to a convenience store at noon and never
come home

Right now there are folks in Ferguson lighting molotov cocktails and avoiding tear gas and not knowing if the scales are going to tip just enough to get them killed — because **another** innocent black man was murdered by the police — and I’m writing









what it means to be black and to die black and to lose someone as a black person in America.

Tumblr posts don’t do shit.  I’m glad articles are circulating but don’t for one second let yourself feel better about yourself.  You/we/I are still not doing anything against these injustices.




A mother’s worst nightmare.

She spoke not one lie.

This destroys me and I’m reblogging it again and again.

(via mightymikemcgee)










Anon has officially started doxing. They are doxing Ferguson’s police Chief John Belmar and his family. They HAVE ALSO POSTED HIS ADDRESS ONLINE AS WELL.

With the protest going on in Ferguson plus the help of Anon, this is history in the making.

In case you can’t see the confederate flag in that screenshot…

Anonymous don’t play

Yeah have ya’ll read their official statement?

Greetings world, we are Anonymous.

On August 9th in Ferguson, Missouri the 17 year old and unarmed Mike Brown was shot several times and killed by an officer of the Ferguson Police Department. His body was left to lie in a pool of blood in the sweltering heat for hours while 15 police departments militarized the area against protesters, sealed the roads leading to Ferguson in a vain attempt to prevent protesters from reaching the city. The police has clearly crossed a line in the sand.

For this reason Anonymous will not be satisfied this time, as we have in the past – with simply obtaining justice for this young man and his family. Anonymous demands that the Congressional Representatives and Elf-lords from Missouri introduce legislation entitled “Mike Brown’s Law” that will set strict national standards for police conduct and misbehaviour in the USA.

To the good people of Ferguson, take heart – and take your streets. You are not alone, we will support you in every way possible. Occupy every square inch of your city. Demand justice, staying silent today could result in the death of your kid tomorrow.

To the Ferguson Police Department and any other jurisdictions who are deployed to the protests: we are watching you very closely. If you abuse, harass – or harm in any way the protesters in Ferguson we will take every web based asset of your departments and governments off line. That is not a threat, it is a promise. Attacking the protesters will result in the release of personal information on every single member of the Ferguson Police Department, as well as any other jurisdiction that participates in the abuse of this States own law. We will seize all your databases and E-Mail spools and dump them on the Internet. This is your first and last warning.

The time has come for more than simple justice for these atrocities. The time has come to draw a line in the sand. The time has come to bring those to justice, who served to protect us, not kill us.

Until justice prevails, hack and protest will replace it.

Operation Ferguson engaged.

We Are Anonymous.
We Are Legion.
We do Not Forgive.
We do Not Forget.
Ferguson, Expect us.”






This is beautiful.

(via therabbitandthefoxunited)


Message for the day

artwork by Sarah Strang

(via therabbitandthefoxunited)


To say that the past few days have been emotionally taxing is to greatly understate and trivialize how hurt & fed up I am with the treatment of people, my people, in this country. 2014 and we’re no further from persecution & slaughter than we were since….ever. Since forever. At what point have we not been given the treatment of a rabid dog? Of subhuman? Of beings undeserving of fair & humane treatment? Of beings deserving of protection?

I am not impressed with your president’s statement regarding the death of an entertainer before that of a boy being senselessly put down by an officer of the law. Or the lack of transparency in the media & by the police. Or the fact that several eyewitnesses have corroborated & confirmed the story that Michael Brown, an 18 year old who was to be furthering his education post-high school as of yesterday, was shot multiple times and ultimately murdered with his hands raised in surrender pleading not to be, for j-walking. Though the media speculated shoplifting or a struggle with the officer, who has YET TO BE NAMED, there is still no justification for the fact that the victim was unarmed (though the pressing of the fact is problematic in & of itself) was executed and left on the cement to stew in a pool of his own blood for hours. Peaceful protests were met by canines and riot gear. The media failed, unsurprisingly to report that. Your president failed, unsurprisingly, to report that.

How many more innocent brown people are to be put on micro-trial & executed by law enforcement before it’s acceptable to be upset? Before it’s acceptable to be angry, stop asking for permission to have change & demand that it be given before there is consequence? I’m not satisfied. I won’t be until there is accountability and reform. We are tired, we angry, and we are well within our right to be.

I can’t see this happen again. I need to do more.

(*Note: Photos provided by the timelines of people on the front lines in Ferguson & are not my own. To keep track of what’s happening as it happens or and get involved, vandalyzm & @antoniofrench (to name a few) have been my go to.

(via therabbitandthefoxunited)

dismantle every single person and institution that has ever told the families and communities of murdered black children to calm down and behave.

(via therabbitandthefoxunited)

There are
hundreds of ways to
kneel & kiss
the ground.