“Do you think he’ll notice if I just never come out of the bathroom?”
“A cultural exchange from a person with a prostate to those without.”
Often, use of makeup, especially as a way to cover up perceived flaws, is seen as a symptom of body dysmorphic disorder. But for me, using makeup is not a way to hide what I look like. Instead, it’s a way for me to be seen.
The first draft of The Ship We Built was intended as a valentine for one person. Six and a half years later, The Ship We Built has been released as a novel with Penguin Random House and continues to be a valentine – now for anybody who picks it up.
Every asexual person has a moment when the recognition sets in. Those moments would come a lot easier if asexuality was more prominent in pop culture.
Is a soft butch a soft butch if she can barely hold even herself together? Is a soft butch a soft butch without her swagger?
Growing up in fandom, I gathered a long list of straight fictional ships without realizing until much later that I had been projecting myself onto the male half of those ships.
“There. She. Is.” Glennon wrote in her new memoir, Untamed, when she recalled the moment Abby Wambach entered her life. I assumed that would be the central conflict of Untamed. And in some ways it is — but not the ways I expected.
My chest continued to breathe new life, even when I was no longer alone. Physical affinity suddenly cropped up in corners I never anticipated.
A young black queer girl goes to her first pride parade, tackles her fears of her own queerness rooted in acceptance, and becomes friends with other black queer people after the death of her parents.
Maybe, she finds herself thinking, there could be space for joy in this new life. Maybe, she dreams, as she finishes the last page and immediately starts the book over again, this is not so hopeless after all.
To me, magic means resilience and connecting to ancestors who survived the tragedy of the Middle Passage. Magic runs through my veins and feels like my birthright. It’s stronger than white supremacy will ever be.
“And I thought how interesting is it that America can be this dark star, death star, and also at the same time this incredible shining light.”
All we have is each other. And we are the only ones we know, if we believe in the myth of ourselves enough to create truth, who will save us.
Tell yourself that you’re not like one of those chain smokers, that you can stop whenever you want. Start smoking American Spirits, so it’s like, not even that bad for you because it’s natural, or organic, or something. You forget.
One patient in the study “Observation of Trends in Manic-Depressive Psychosis” by O. Spurgeon English recounted that living with bipolar disorder “is like opening all my pores on a cold day and subjecting myself to catastrophe.”
I too have felt like a catastrophe of a person, a catastrophe of a star, a catastrophe of emotions.
When I told my partner I thought I needed to call the ER for a telemedicine appointment, her face was devastated but not shocked. We’d been listing off symptoms to each other for weeks — dry throats, tight chests, nausea — trying to decide if what we were experiencing was anxiety or the onset of the virus.
Three weeks ago I began my Coronavirus self-quarantine. Faced with the reality that I wouldn’t see anyone, I started an experiment. I wasn’t going to shave, paint my nails, or put on makeup — until I wanted to, for myself.
“She admired my tits like only someone else on estrogen could and then she grabbed them harder than anyone had before.”
It was like saving a seat on the bus for someone who routinely happened to never show up. It was like setting the table for someone who decided to eat an hour before coming over for dinner.