When we moved out of our house, I wondered: How much of our presence is still there? How much do we haunt the place?
Transition needn’t be a straight line.
When you love someone with dissociative identity disorder, you are not building one healthy relationship—you are building many.
In other words, the suburbs are equated with whiteness because they were designed to be.
I want medicine to meet me where I am, not where it wants me to be.
In our constrained culture where public, raw grief is not socially acceptable, I fear that grief stories are being asked to do too much.
I believe so strongly in the beauty and autonomy of body transformation, but I’m worried that will erase the small visible echoes of my (and my mother’s) history of survival.
In the time since being an active Tumblr user, I’ve seen our cultural standards for what is “desirable” shift so much.