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I’m not the sick girl. I never was. I live with an illness. I was very sick at one point, but it was never who I was.

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We’ve been loseable and we are loseable and we’re getting more loseable every day. And yet, are we really doing such a good job of loving? Are we really doing such a great job of holding? Are we here when we’re here? Are we there when we’re there?

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Yes, I see myself in the mirror every single day, as most people do, but it wasn’t until I had no hair on my head that I sat and took a long, hard look at myself

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I was a 28 year old, sexually aware feminist that loved her breasts and hadn’t touched them in months because of the diagnosis of my mother.

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Personal setbacks, as unfortunate as they are unavoidable, are like a universal truth.

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I probably won’t come, but invite me anyway.

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I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I’m sorry for not appreciating you more. I’m sorry for not always welcoming you in the best way.

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Having the perfect set of tits wouldn’t make them anymore beautiful when they were the source of mutations. I don’t even like them that much, I think. A lifetime of dealing with a part of my body that I’m not even crash hot about.

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she upset you a lot. She never ate and even lied about what she wore the other day. She stole from everyone, including you. She hid things and relapsed and went to rehab often. She told you she was going to get clean. She promised. She always promised and you always believed her.

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ESFP – Texts all their friends that they’re DYING, who wants to come over for a movie night?