Well! WELL! My subscribers! I’ve abandoned you!
I’m so sorry. The holidays fucking suck, I’m in flux, etc. etc. etc. Forgive me! And I promise that going forward, my posting schedule will be once a week.
Today’s update is a sporadic December journal I accidentally created each time I tried (and failed) to write to you when I went back to Brooklyn last month.
[TW: this post discusses eating disorders + body dysmorphia]
12/13
Back! In! New York!
Yesterday I took an Amtrak from Boston, took a Lyft from Penn Station, dragged my huge suitcase up the familiar death-grip staircase, and opened my door.
When I was last in this apartment six months ago, I was a very sick person.
Now I’m greeted by spoiled pickles, oat milk, and thick, gray cheese in the fridge. The toilet is dirty. Most of my plants are dead.
But. It has that exposed brick and good light I missed so much. It’s full of things I love. There were far fewer ghosts than I was expecting. And…it sat right where I left it. It, like, waited for me.
And, yes, I know it didn’t wait for me so much as I continued to pay rent for it, but it was a long-sought comfort to find my books and my yellow dresser and my PJ Harvey poster and my seashells and my mug collection just as I had left them. I could say something more specific and insightful here about needing consistency after 2022, but I won’t. <3
Today I haven’t done anything besides sit in my bed, have therapy, FaceTime a friend, and get a latte, and that’s okay. I’m readjusting to being in my own space, to sitting with myself for hours on end. For being completely responsible for all of my food. Unpacking my clothes gives me deep-dead-fuck-pit-anxiety, because clothes are particularly weird and fraught for people recovering from ~*~*~*~*~*eating disorders*~*~*~*~*~ so I’m letting my suitcase sit there.
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