This is awful, but my boyfriend is skinnier than me (by quite a bit) and it SUPER bothers me. I love him to death, but his body is like a giant ED trigger to me. It's so hard not to beat myself up and feel all huge and masculine next to him. :(
Yeah, my boyfriend is something close to 60lbs lighter than me (or something, I haven’t weighted myself in over a year), and I can see how it could be an ED trigger for some people, I do. I don’t, and have never suffered, from an ED so it doesn’t affect me in the same way.
I think it’s just mostly based on ideas that men should be bigger and taller than their female partners, which, when you think about it, is so completely stupid, it makes me want to bang my head on the walls with considerable force (the same way people think it’s weird when a woman is taller than her male partner. Ugh.)
I know you probably know that and can’t help the way you fell, but, just, skinniness DOES NOT denote femininity, just like being bigger, taller, stronger, muscly etc. DOES NOT make you ‘masculine’. Femininity and masculinity are also concepts that are deeply stupid and wrong and based on outdated gender roles and ideas, and should be thrown away and spit upon and squashed until they don’t exist anymore.
And just, please, please, don’t do this to yourself, it’s not worth it. It never ever is.
(I had to transcribe this poem, because it became an immediate favorite the second that I heard it. I am over 70 pounds heavier than my boyfriend, and I have thought, felt and said all of these things before. But he is perfect, and we are perfect together.)
10 HONEST THOUGHTS ON BEING LOVED BY A SKINNY BOY Rachel Wiley
1. I say, ‘I am fat.’ He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’ I wonder why I cannot be both. He kisses me hard.
2. My college theater professor once told me that despite my talent, I would never be cast as a romantic lead. We do plays that involve singing animals and children with the ability to fly, but apparently no one has enough willing suspension of disbelief to go with anyone loving a fat girl. I daydream regularly about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
3. On the mornings I do not feel pretty, while he is still asleep, I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive, for a punchline, for other girls’ phone numbers.
4. When we hold hands in public, I wonder if he notices the looks — like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk; if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
5. Dear Cosmo: Fuck you. I will not take sex tips from you on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
6. He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
7. I can cup his hip bone in my hand, feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all. He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful. Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
8. The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop assumes we are just friends and flirts over the counter. I spend the next two weeks mentally replacing myself with her in all of our photographs. When I admit this to him we spend the evening taking new photos together. He will not let me delete a single one of them.
9. The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire. Fucking me does not require an asterisk. Loving me is not a fetish. Finding me beautiful is not a novelty. I am not a fucking novelty.
10. I say, ‘I am fat.’ He says, ‘No. You are so much more’, and kisses me hard.
I used to think that it was almost sacrilegious to deface a book. To cut it up. To tear the pages, to break the spines, to cover words in black marker to make poems. To highlight things and write in the margins, etc.
Then slowly things changed. I think it started with my renewed love of buying books secondhand. I started to love the creased spines and the frayed edges. I love finding notes in pencil inside the pages. I love to see that a book has been used and read and passed on. That many hands have held it. I love to see the history of it, and so I think it’s also fair that I leave history in mine.
I like book art. I like the ones where you dig a hole in the middle of the pages to make a diorama, or hide a bottle of gin or a gun. I like the marked out poems and the torn up pages used in collages and jewelry. Little pieces of books finding themselves in other treasures.
I think that books are both precious and not. In fact, maybe the stories they contain are more precious. I don’t know. But I think they should be objects that we manipulate, that we use with time. They get damaged because we spend hours carrying them in our bags to wherever we go. Because they are our companions. The covers get turned because we lent it to a friend and they obviously had a really bad habit of turning the cover around when they read, but then again they had that look in their eyes and that smile on their lips when they gave it back that said the book lived in their head now, so it’s okay.
I only hate when books are burned with hatred. When they are banned and thrown away because what they are saying is considered wrong. When their words are being censored. That is what I hate. The silencing of books.
But I love the way a book looks when it has lived a good life, and I love that when it dies, pieces of it soul can be found all over the world in other creations, in other stories.
“Don’t listen to any advice, that’s what I’d say. Write only what you want to write. Please yourself. YOU are the genius, they’re not. Especially don’t listen to people (such as publishers) who think that you need to write what readers say they want. Readers don’t always know what they want. I don’t know what I want to read until I go into a bookshop and look around at the books other people have written, and the books I enjoy reading most are books I would never in a million years have thought of myself. So the only thing you need to do is forget about pleasing other people, and aim to please yourself alone.”—Philip Pullman (via writingquotes)
To the anon who asked you about the value of an arts degree- I started my college career at a conservatory solely studying music, and I ended up transferring to a university to study social science instead. I feel that unless a career in the arts is the only way that you'll ever be happy and you don't have other interests that could turn into at least a part-time career, it's best to get an arts degree AND also get a solid foundation in a field where having a degree is an actual necessity.
Do you ever wish you had chosen a different degree to get rather than Bachelor of Fine Arts? Do you feel like that is a useless degree? I have been thinking about doing a Bachelor of Arts with major in music, but a huge part of me is really afraid of this decision, because I hear so much about bachelor of arts degrees are useless and not worth the money and time spent in school. Any thoughts?
Yes and no. I LOVED doing my degree. LOVED it. And I, personally, didn’t really cared about whether or not it would be useful. I still don’t. I only cared about studying what I wanted.
The only thing I vaguely regret, is my choice of university. I mean, in the end, I had so much fun, and made really good friends, and worked in an art gallery which is the best job I’ve ever had. But the way they built their degree kinda screwed me over for any graduate studies (I would have had to catch up to another year of undergrad, maybe even two to be admissible to MA programs in other universities - which is something I wish I had known)
I mean, obviously right now, I’m not doing anything with my degree, but that’s mostly my fault. Sometimes I think it’s less the degree and more the level of education you have. I feel that more and more undergrad degrees are becoming useless and you have to get a Master’s degree to be more competitive. That said, I guess it depends on your field of studies and what you have to do. Also, I could be full of shit and it’s quite possible I don’t know what I’m talking about.
I always say that you should study what makes you happy. But it depends on you. Some people really don’t want to have the debts and all that. I never cared. Just wanted to do things I liked.
As for the useless thing - I don’t know about the people you know, but it was a big running joke when I was in uni between me and my friends and everybody else in our programs, that a BA was useless and that we were going to be broke and jobless for the rest of our lives, and maybe that is true a lot, but mostly it’s not, and nobody cared because we loved it. That’s what’s important, I think.
I don’t really watch war movies. They make me cry and hurt and when I do watch them, I only do it once and then appreciate them for what they are, and probably forget most of them right after. Because my heart cannot really take it.
I mean, I haven’t even seen Saving Private Ryan, or Schindler’s List, or Inglorious Basterds, or Flags of Our Fathers, or The Thin Red Line, or even Atonement, or The Pianist, etc.
I know I have seen some, but generally it would be stories that happen during that time, but without the graphic depiction of war itself, and I can’t remember any off the top of my head at the moment.
My favourite book having anything to do with WW2 though is The Lost Garden by Helen Humphreys (oh and The Diary of Anne Frank, of course)
Trying to come up with a sensible ghost-turned-spiritual-guide-ish character for my Rose/Georgia original story.
The only thing that comes to my mind, because I’m being very cranky, is this old grumpy ghost of a Professor haunting the mezzanine of the library where he had a heart attack, and he sits at one of the table or walks among the stacks and rolls his eyes and mumbles incomprehensible insults because could the students get any stupider, I swear they are getting stupider, and stop bothering him with their problems, please please, he’s not a bloody counsellor, or therapist or one of those annoying self-inflated egos that like to answer letters in the local newspapers. And would Rose just get a grip on herself it’s quite clear what she has to do, really, it’s what she does best, which is to run and run and run, except, please girl, don’t be ridiculous, you have to run toward something, not away from it. Jesus Christ.
Hi Mj :) Just curious, have you read La Mécanique du cœur ?
No! I actually have it on my to-read list with the English title. Didn’t know it was originally in French. Good to know, since I don’t like reading translation of books I could read in their original language.
(Between you and me though, I haven’t read something in French in years, except when I feel like re-reading some Alessandro Baricco)
What are some things that you do that scare you? Do you think you´ve gotten better at doing things that scare the more you do them?
I post my writing (and my art) online. That scares me almost every single time, but yes it does get better.
Other things I’ve done that were scary, but I did them anyway:
I moved to Korea on my own for a year
applying for certain jobs
giving tours in an art gallery
putting my art up in the graduating Fine Arts student exhibition when I finished my undergrad.
saying ‘yes’ when my now partner showed up on my doorstep and ask if we should give ‘us’ a go.
As of right now, I am in an almost perpetual state of fear over my whole life actually. But I just keep on going though I certainly am not going at it full force and head on, like when I moved to Korea, and I could be better at it, and I want to be better at it. But I’ve also never been so scared for some reason. Won’t stop though, I will find a way.