A different flavor of Thanksgiving
Sneaking pictures in a low-ceilinged church basement
Sorry for the inconsistency. School is kicking me in the gut a little bit but here is a photo essay from last week’s holiday.
Plus a few thoughts on how even significant growth still doesn’t fully distance you from your history. (And that a twenty-something year old’s “history” is relatively short).
After a few hours I went home and threw some sort of temper tantrum about food. It’s weird to be “in remission” from anorexia (what DSM 5 calls recovery) and have the OCD-type anxieties sneak up on me.
I’m not entirely surprised. I just wish it didn’t happen. It was a cozy day and I felt safe. My body was remembering the past, though, and couldn’t stay present with me.
It’s frustrating. The pit of self-inflicted, self-hating indulgence in spite and rage swallows me up and I feel like I’m clawing around blindly in it, scratching everyone around me, compulsively hurting them while simultaneously furious with myself for letting this ugliness touch them and terrified of their rejection.
I’m sorry.
It’s December now.
Yesterday we got maybe 100 snow flakes here in Brooklyn.
I love the onset of winter. It feels so right for the city. Walking down 5th ave like a tourist, surrounded by lights and holiday displays, sneaking a cigarette… Fucking winter wonderland.
love