- nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
My name is Janit, and I have just been diagnosed with a pretty heavy hitting terminal brain cancer called Grade III Anaplastic Oligodendroglioma. I had neurosurgery to remove the tumor, but it’s not treatable by that alone, and honestly, it doesn’t respond well to other treatments either. The battle is going to be long, hard and exhausting. The average life expectancy is 3 1/2 years. I do not have a good relationship with my family, mostly due to my queerness, and am very scared of having to go home to them for care and living the remaining life I have left in a hellhole. I cannot work and was denied disability, making a lot of things hard to pay for. I am asking you for help. Below is my GoFundMe account where you can donate money to help me with things like rent, food, medical care, and therapy. Anything and everything helps. I am already overwhelmed with the generosity that has been given to me, but the care I need is expensive. I am lost and doing the last thing I can think of, asking the universe to provide and hoping that it does. I am young, scared shitless and begging for your help. If you cannot donate, I would appreciate if you could give this a signal boost. Help in any and all forms is immensely appreciated. Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Feel free to follow me and watch my story unfold. I love and need friends right now
I healed very well from my neurosurgery, and have moved on to other types of treatment, mostly chemo and radiation. The chemo has made my body stop producing blood platelets, which you need for blood clotting and whatnot, and I have had to do 2 emergency transfusions in the last 3 days. The chemo has also made my hair fall out, so now I am serving bald headed realness all day. I am updating, frankly, because I am running out of money, my gofundme has lost all steam and am still being put through the ringer by disability. Please friends, find it in your heart to donate or share, based on your ability to do such. Thank you, so much. I will never be able to convey my appreciation for every single person who has helped me along the way. You are all so, so beautiful.
i just want to sit on your lap and make out for like eight hours
- Mark Twain, Autobiography of Mark Twain (via vvolare)
I don’t know when I first realised that I could eat whatever I want and then vomit it out, the knowledge was stunning and soon everyone loved me more; my mother, my friends, the men in the streets. Beauty is a strange place, a road sign in the distance that you never actually reach. The term bulimia in greek means ‘ravenous hunger’ and I was starving. It’s incredible how long your body can last on nothing until you lose everything.
Bulimia is a secret that rots your teeth, burst the blood vessels in your eyes and intimidates anyone that could ever dare to love you. You despise your own body and the irony of that is very cruel. Every single thing of joy, was corrupted by my illness. Music was used only to hide the sounds of my retching, film, to satiate the hunger when I had taken twelve diet pills and could not feel the tips of my fingers. That whole part of my life is almost a myth, I was twenty years old, killing myself and not one person noticed. I knew the consequences, I was already experiencing some - the enamel of my teeth abandoning me, my periods disappearing, my body just hurting all the time.
I learnt how to lie with a beautiful skill, the careful calculation of how long after eating with your loved ones that you must excuse yourself to go to the bathroom before the food starts to digest. How to flush the toilet repeatedly or run the tap to hide the sounds, taking off all your clothes because the vomit always splashes back. How to hide the bleeding gums, the bloody nose, the bloating of face. I did nothing else, but gently manipulate everyone that cared about me.
Then, a hammam in Marrakech, I watched the women walk around partially naked, the soft swell of belly, the thighs and hips, flesh being scrubbed and oiled and steamed, a woman with hips as wide as mine, with the same thickness in thighs, the same dimples on the small of back, same waist, navel, skin so carefully soft and human that I was afraid to look. Why did I hate my body when hers was the same and I could not stop looking?
Essentially, if our secrets are secrets because we are told to be ashamed, then we must share them. There is no shame in being sad or struggling or trying to heal. We are all desperate, depraved and sacred. We are all terrible and brillIant. I can list all the things that can make a girl want to escape her own body (re: patriarchy). But I’d rather list all the things that make me want to stay in my body, and adorn it like a home, rub oils into my skin, tell it how sorry I am for trying to leave, for trying to hurt it into submission.
Eating disorders don’t disappear. Many have no idea that there is something wrong with the way they are hungry, with they way that they eat, that they exercise until they cannot move, that there is always a new diet, that the scales are the first thing to touch your body in the morning. We live in a world where the worst thing a woman could be is at peace with her body. We are obsessed with destroying, controlling and colonising everything, even our own bodies. I’m interested in kindness.
My name is Warsan Shire and I survived bulimia and I have absolutely no shame.
‘It took me Twenty-something years to learn how to love myself, I don’t have that kinda time to convince somebody else’ - Daniel Franzese
- The Toughest Indian In The World, Sherman Alexie (via avvfvl)