☻☹☻
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‘That little one peeping through the hole reminds me so much of myself, hiding but wanting to see’
Photograph: Nan Goldin
You will not want to do this, but it’s most important. Befriend, no, adopt the littlest you. No matter how many times you’ve left her by the side of the road, that’s just what you were taught. I promise she’s not trying to kill you. And she’s not rotten. She’s perfect–the Universe chose to put breath in her chest for a reason.
You may feel allergic to this little one. But perhaps someday, because it happened to me, after decades of trying to starve that girl out of me, eventually, through a lot of work with my lady in a chair who I pay to love me, I came to not begrudge that I need that little girl as much as she needs me. I tried to kill her, repeatedly. But you and me and all the daughters of cruel mothers, which even includes our mothers, we deserve to let our original little selves live. Because when it comes to the way out–she is the flashlight.
Repeat after me:
My body is not wrong, or ugly, too big or too thin, too pale or too dark, too broken or too strong. It is the vessel of a precious life and that is enough.
I’m a disgusting piece of shit slut who can’t keep her legs closed I gross people out I’m disgusting I’m a whore why can’t I stop doing this I just want to be fucking NORMAL. WHD DO YOU.MAKE EVERYTBI G ABIUT SEX WHATS WRONG WITH YOU ????? GROSS GROSS GROSS GROSS YOURE SCARING HIM STOP EW
you know what i’m excited for? the lingerie. the pretty, lacy clothes that would have looked so bad on you before, stretched and awkward. now it accentuates how your body is strong, but delicate.
turning in the mirror on the tips of your toes, knowing those thigh highs finally look good and cute instead of as if they’re holding back the waves of your thighs. you’ve even accessorized with a cute punk-rock garter for tonight, and it doesn’t look like your fat is squeezing out over it. instead, it looks like it could slip off any second. you have to tighten it, even though it was the smallest size they sold.
you get ready for the night feeling light, delicate, amazing. you can move so easily now, humming as you swipe on makeup you barely need. your cheekbones are already contoured, your eyes already huge and beautiful. red nail polish goes on your fingertips, accenting how even your hands are skinny now. you fuss with your hair, but it doesn’t really matter how you wear it - every way it falls, it falls next to a sharp jawline and sets off how beautiful you are now.
your friends show up early while you’re still in your underwear. you feign shyness but you see the jealousy in their eyes. the way they yearn to look like you. you can see them wishing, the way you used to wish but don’t need to anymore. you stopped wishing and started working and it has finally paid off.
they help you pick out clothes and complain that you look good in everything. they talk about how you make them look bad, can you stop being so amazing. you laugh and tell them they’re beautiful too, because they are. but they keep talking about how much they want to be like you.
the whole night you wear this cute underwear and feel powerful. if you find someone tonight, you aren’t worried about what they’ll see. the way people stare at you is like they think you’re unreal. but you don’t care about that - sure, it’s nice - you care about how fun it is to be able to dance for hours without breaking a sweat, how your body is so light, how you don’t have to worry about good angles or if the dress is too tight or if you’re jiggling. you’re just having fun with your friends and you don’t have to worry about anything.




