always felt like a thing thats happening in the background of whats going on in my head. i throw in some moans for good measure so they cant tell. but not this time. this time, im lost in the moment. (pg. 229)
he gives me a long, hard look. hes never looked at me like this before. its pitying and parental. i dont like it, but theres something to the depth of it that makes me realize hes not going to budge. im not going to be able to convince him. (pg. 233)
my whole life, my entire existence has been oriented to the narrative that mom wants whats best for me, mom does whats best for me, mom knows whats best for me. even in the past, when resentments started to creep in or wedges started to come between us, i have checked those resentments and wedges, i have curbed them so that i can
move forward with this narrative intact, this narrative
that feels essential to my survival. (pg. 248)
a pushover is a bad thing to be, but an opinionated pushover is a worse thing to be. a pushover is nice and goes along with it, whatever it is. an opinionated pushover
acts nice and goes along with it, but while quietly brooding and resentful. i am an opinionated pushover. (pg. 281)
my scale has defined me for so long. the number it shows tells me whether im succeeding or failing, whether im trying hard enough or not, whether im good or bad. i know its unhealthy for anything to have that much authority over my self worth, but no matter how hard ive tried to fight it, i have always felt reduced to the number on the scale -- maybe because, in a way, its easier. defining yourself is hard. complicated. messy. letting the number on the scale do it for you is simple. direct. straightforward. (pg. 288)
mom didnt get better. but i will. (pg. 297)
at the beginning of the decade, the people i was
close to seemed like friends for life, people i could
never imagine not seeing every day. but life happens. love happens. loss happens. change and growth happen at different paces for different people, and sometimes the
paces just dont line up. its devastating if i think
too much about it, so i usually dont. (pg. 300)
