On the uncomfortable realization that I sat through an entire movie without it once crossing my mind that it was lacking in blacks, Latinos, and Asians, because what was in front of me felt largely true to my experience, albeit an even more whitewashed one than I grew up with.
Do you roil at the thought of Kim’s fame-ass? Make fun of those who dare to dabble in taking pictures of their own, imperfect façade? Take a moment—lay back on a couch, perhaps, therapy-session style—and think honestly about why that might be.
After lamenting a deficit of “normal” compliments in my life, I’ve comforted myself by concluding that–while I’ll never be the Marsha Brady of the world–at least people are forced to go off autopilot when they address me.
My family would never make it onto a cereal box, but–despite lacking excessive designer clothes and expert contouring skills–we’d probably give the Kardashians a run for their money on reality television.
Traveling with an eating disorder—whether you’re in the thick of it, in recovery, or consider yourself recovered—is a loaded move. While non-ED-afflicted humans rejoice in the opportunity to let loose, indulge endlessly, and take a break from the treadmill, I find myself panicking for weeks (if not months) beforehand.
I’m of the mindset that everything happens for a reason, with the caveat of: if you search hard enough for that reason. So, I’ve been digging relentlessly to try to find one, looking inside myself with the hope that I’ll figure out what this little life hiccup wants to tell me/what I can learn. I’m realizing, instead, that I might just have to succumb to the reality that these epiphanies rarely happen right away.
“If you want to maintain some level of not-being-a-fucking-loser, best not to admit how often “Fuck with me you know I got it” plays in your head. Except right now, right now it’s okay.” And more gems, after le jump!
I can’t really blame the show for leading me astray, after all it’s entertainment, not a guide for what to expect when you’re [not] expecting. But I can overthink it, helping myself sleep at night by mocking its insane conception of young (and, eventually, less young) women living in the city.
After seeing Boyhood last night, I was reminded of the pleasure of sitting in a dark room with strangers as a wonderful film unfolds on the screen before you, AND that, oddly, I often feel more tuned into the world when I’m tuning out.