I starved myself for 36 hours straight last week. Several personal issues blew up in my face and I wanted not to feel. I talked to my close friends and went to therapy and started to eat again. This series of tweets illustrates how I feel after eating:
Ariana’s September 2018 = Thomas’s April 2019. That’s that on that.
Life sucks. Continue reading
Drugs, food, men, shopping. I could have used any one of these to cope with the grief, racism, and remnants of trauma I experienced over the past year. I dabbled in all of them minus drugs – restricted calories for a few days, developed an intense crush or two, bought more books from Barnes and Noble and short shorts from Forever 21 than I should have – but I knew for long-term psychological stability, I should go back to disclosing my most shameful secrets to a paid professional. In all seriousness, creating and cultivating a relationship with the fifth therapist in my lifetime has been a wonderful experience, despite some necessary difficulties.
For every therapist who has helped me, at least one other has hurt my heart. Continue reading