A preview of last week’s stressful but euphoric Press Conference.

September  14   ( 2 )



thewolfish: Hello. I just wanted to tell you how much I admire you so. You are a lovely, lovely person. You are made of magic, Jyll. For some reason, whenever I go through your blog, I feel calm and safe. I hope you're happy. I really hope you are. The stars are smiling for you.

Thank you so much. You have no idea how much you’ve made me smile. People like you are made of magic, too. ❤

"I no longer have patience for certain things, not because I’ve become arrogant, but simply because I reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste more time with what displeases me or hurts me. I have no patience for cynicism, excessive criticism and demands of any nature. I lost the will to please those who do not like me, to love those who do not love me and to smile at those who do not want to smile at me. I no longer spend a single minute on those who lie or want to manipulate. I decided not to coexist anymore with pretense, hypocrisy, dishonesty and cheap praise. I do not tolerate selective erudition nor academic arrogance. I do not adjust either to popular gossiping. I hate conflict and comparisons. I believe in a world of opposites and that’s why I avoid people with rigid and inflexible personalities. In friendship I dislike the lack of loyalty and betrayal. I do not get along with those who do not know how to give a compliment or a word of encouragement. Exaggerations bore me and I have difficulty accepting those who do not like animals. And on top of everything I have no patience for anyone who does not deserve my patience."

— Meryl Streep (via timirose)

5 Reasons you should date a girl with an eating disorder:

1. “Her obsession over her body will improve her overall looks.”
Her teeth are yellowing now. Your hands clench tight around your forearms, you peer through the darkness and whisper, “are you alright?” and her head bobs up and down so many times that you can hear her counting the calories of each movement behind those cold dead eyes and you say “do you want my jacket” and she’ll be shivering and say no she’s fine no she’s fine no she’s fine or maybe you lose sight of her at the party and when you ask her friend all you get is “she’s probably throwing up” and when you say “oh no oh no oh no” you’ll hear “it’s okay she does that a lot” how about this about yellow paper skin and hollow eyes and blue fingernails and skinny fat and bruised knees and fainting spells and a look of complete guilt because she just finished an entire meal how about that how about hair that comes off in flakes how about her tears as they stain your shoulder how about those late night texts that say “i think i’m gonna fucking kill myself”

2. “She costs less money.”
Therapy and back again with no red riding hood just a bouquet of pills she popped into her mouth when she skip-hop-danced right off the path in the woods and met her wolf where he was waiting with wet jaws and hungry bellies and a siren that drowns out everything you’re saying because she’s thinking about when she gets to eat if she ever gets to eat if she never eats again it would be so good but at the same time she wants to eat everything that her fingers close over how many boxes of food has she bought that she threw away surreptitiously she will feel an ingredients list printed on her inside wrist and she will write “waste of everything” inside of it how many rice cakes diet pills laxatives gym memberships diet cokes cigarettes how many times can you touch her softly before she begs you not to put a hand on her thunder thighs mountain stomach cheeks that jiggle when she so much of thinks about running how many dinners she’ll turn down just to wait until the night gets dark enough that she can shove everything in the fridge into the tiny pocket of her skin how many stores can she stock up in how many scratch marks will you count on her body from where she has pinched her fat over and over and over

3. “She’s fragile and vulnerable.”
You forget and you swing her into your arms but the minute her feet leave the ground her laughter turns into sobs she will thrash against you and beg to be put down because no matter how many times you tell her that you’re strong enough to carry her weight the one inside of her is unbearably heavy and stupid things will set her off like she is carrying a hand grenade she will shatter herself so many times her fingertips will peel back from all the glass cuts she gets trying to hold herself together long enough just to have a normal conversation because after four days of eating nothing she’ll call you and in a husky voice ask you to describe your dinner and you’ll hear her breathing over the line get deeper and one day after four hours of shoving her face with everything in reach she won’t call you at all because she’s a fat pig who doesn’t deserve love doesn’t deserve anything and she’ll chase down all of these feelings with so much liquor that she has an excuse to put her head in the toilet and when she finally starts crying it’s because she can’t get her gag reflex working and you will have no idea until you see the bruises on her hips the next morning where she swung down her fists until her hands shook too much to make a good impact she won’t let you save her she’ll crumble all over the place and keep telling you “please god stay away i love you can’t you see that i’m trying to save you from me”

4. “Probably has money of her own.”
her parents won’t speak to her about anything but college applications and she thinks she triggers her sister just by existing and her friends might all have a bet going about how long it will take her before she either ends up in a hospital or ends up getting better and when she gives you gifts they will come with a steady heart that ends up with shaking hands because she’ll ask you if it was okay if it was a good choice if it’s something that you wanted if it was good enough and you’ll have to say yes every time until the word feels like a dead weight and she’ll keep asking anyway because she’s really saying is that she has given you herself but she knows that she’s decaf light, a coffee girl you signed up for that ended up being burnt and ground improperly she texts you at three in the morning about going for a run at four in the morning about sit ups and at five about how she hasn’t slept in so long that she forgets how to use a bed as someplace other than an early grave and when she does close her eyes it’s just to think about eating and how even though she wants to be normal in the background of her mind at all times is a quiet mp3 that whispers to her about not eating, her phone will come with more fitness apps than contacts she can beg for help from her laptop has sixteen tabs open and they’re all workout videos and dieting tips and clothes that she’ll buy once she’s the weight she’s always wanted she’ll erase her internet history like a pornography addict because people can’t know they can’t see that she’s dying how do you tell someone’s parents “i think your child is killing herself” when she looks perfectly fine in their eyes when last tuesday they told her she could lose some weight when all the binging has put more meat on her bones than her weak brain can carry

5. “She’s better in bed.”
you can’t compliment her she won’t let you look at her she’ll beg you to just turn off the lights and fuck her so you forget how hollow it sounds every time you collide with her she’ll draw blood from you she’ll ask you to hit her to hurt her to call her names she’ll say these things and they’ll sound like dirty fun until she doesn’t let you kiss her lips because she’s staring at the ceiling letting you abuse her in the ways that her mind already does and she’ll get good and drunk before shedding her skin because she can’t think about the things that are shifting in between the cracks and she can’t think about how your hands don’t trace patterns on her hips or collarbones or stomach and whiskey is the only way she can pretend that you’re just overly passionate and not scared that if you put too much pressure on any soft place she’ll start crying again not that she cries loudly or anything but it’s been getting so bad that every time she’s on her back you can expect at some point she’s gonna shine with silent tears and tell you that it’s okay she’s fine she’s just thinking about something difficult keep going it’s okay she’s okay she’s never hated herself for eating for not eating for breathing for wishing she wasn’t breathing she has never hated you for loving her she’s okay she’s just on a diet because that’s what she deserves and when she talks about it with you she’ll call it “eating issues” as if food was just an obstacle and she is just not good enough at navigating to steer through that storm and she’ll never believe it that you love her she’ll tell you “i’m not who you think i am i’m a ghost girl i’m a liar please don’t love me” and is this beautiful is this girl beautiful are you even dating her or are you just the last bridge she has left to burn do you even love her do you even love her do you even know or has her disorder swallowed you whole?


I know it was a while since that horrific article about “Why you should date a girl with an eating disorder” was published, but one of my friends found it recently and it triggered her enough she called me crying and said “I am going to starve myself until I am back in the hospital and I don’t even want to do that I don’t want to be a monster.”  /// r.i.d (please don’t delete this text)

For Teenage Girls with Wild Ambition and Trembling Hearts

by Clementine von Radics

When you are 13 years old, 
the heat will be turned up too high
and the stars will not be in your favor. 
You will hide behind a bookcase
with your family and everything left behind. 
You will pour an ocean into a diary. 
When they find you, you will be nothing
but a spark above a burning bush, 
still, tell them
Despite everything, I really believe people are good at heart.

When you are 14, 
a voice will call you to greatness. 
When the doubters call you crazy, do not listen.
They don’t know the sound 
of their own God’s whisper. Use your armor, 
use your sword, use your two good hands. 
Do not let their doubting 
drown out the sound of your own heartbeat.
You are the Maid of Untamed Patriotism.
Born to lead armies into victory and unite a nation
like a broken heart.

When you are 15, you will be punished 
for learning too proudly. A man 
will climb onto your school bus and insist 
your sisters name you enemy. 
When you do not hide, 
he will point his gun at your temple 
and fire three times. Three years later, 
in an ocean of words, with no apologies,
you will stand before the leaders of the world 
and tell them your country is burning.

When you are 16 years old, 
you will invent science fiction. 
The story of a man named Frankenstein 
and his creation. Soon after you will learn 
that little girls with big ideas are more terrifying 
than monsters, but don’t worry. 
You will be remembered long after 
they have put down their torches.

When you are 17 years old, 
you will strike out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig
one right after the other. 
Men will be afraid of the lightening 
in your fingertips. A few days later 
you will be fired from the major leagues 
because “Girls are too delicate to play baseball”

You will turn 18 with a baby on your back 
leading Lewis and Clark 
across North America.

You will turn 18 
and become queen of the Nile.

You will turn 18 
and bring justice to journalism.

You are now 18, standing on the precipice,
trembling before your own greatness.

This is your call to leap.

There will always being those 
who say you are too young and delicate 
to make anything happen for yourself. 
They don’t see the part of you that smolders.
Don’t let their doubting drown out the sound 
of your own heartbeat.

You are the first drop of a hurricane.
Your bravery builds beyond you. You are needed
by all the little girls still living in secret, 
writing oceans made of monsters and
throwing like lightening.

You don’t need to grow up to find greatness.
You are stronger than the world has ever believed you to be.
The world laid out before you to set on fire.
All you have to do
is burn.

I swear I’m going to write soon but for now, let the pictures above narrate what happened for the past events.

one of the worst moments in life is probably when you’re in a room full of people and you look around and see them all talking and laughing and all of sudden you feel so sad and lonely that you can even feel a physical pain in your chest because you realize that they all belong to someone and they all have someone who belongs to them and you don’t, you’re just kind of there

"I wanna go on a roadtrip someday. Alone or with someone I love. I wanna get away. Explore places. Sleep in the car. Stop a lot just to admire the view. Visit museums and try out coffee shops. Listen to my favorite albums while driving. Have a polaroid camera. Take pretty pictures of the sunrise. Take pictures of myself. Run through a forest. Chase fog. Chase the sun. Spend hours on a field making flower crowns. Feel the wind in my hair. Buy souvenirs. Meet people. Take time to observe. I wanna make memories. I wanna feel alive."

— (via jacqueline-parker)
"“Baby,” she says in the softest voice her chest
could find, “please, don’t ever go.” She feels
pathetic in the way she speaks, only he could
make her feel so small, so tiny, so inferior. He’s
the only one that can make her feel so strong yet
so damn weak at the same time, he pushes her
and pulls her, he stitches her seams together so
only his hands have the power to tear them apart.
Sometimes she feels like half a soul when he’s away,
that’s why she always begs for him to stay, please
stay. She doesn’t mind sleeping in the palm of his
hands, she doesn’t mind as long as he never lets
go because then she will wake up to a nightmare.
A life without him isn’t a life she would want to
live, the truth to be told. So she will whisper in his
ear, with a sweet voice and petal soft lips, gently
tickling his skin, as a reminder to not let these
moments go. Don’t let her go, don’t let me go, baby."

i.c. // i’m tied on your string,
don’t cut me loose (via delicatepoetry)

I’m in love with you and only you and I hope you know that you mean everything to me. Keep on smiling and living and loving, baby! ❤️

- baby aydz


This is how you lose her.

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget.

You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.


— Junot Diaz, This is How You Lose Her (via golden-notes)

Rest well, Mr. Williams.

Part V (because I have so much love for these kids).

As a usual habit of mine, I once again inserted sweets on my friends’ bags just to make sure that they smiled before taking the stressful examinations. And it’s really nice to know that some of them have kept all the notes that I have given for the past years.

August  12   ( 1 )