I always take moving as a chance to exercise my ability to throw just about anything away. There is something quite scary about owning too many things. It's potentially my fear of commitment, my fear of being tied down to things, or to a place. Or maybe it's just the mess. More stuff means more mess, at least for me. You think if I was so scared of owning so many things I'd stop buying shit.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t talk about having an eating disorder. Especially after I ‘recovered’ (aka – I gained weight so nobody could tell anymore). I tried to shake it off of me as if it was some embarrassing phase where photos were the only evidence that it existed – to get rid of it like it wasn’t apart of me. But it’s a mental illness – you don’t recover from it, it doesn’t just leave – things just become more muted? Throughout the years I’ve tried to keep it away from lovers and friends but I love to drink and eventually, I tell someone and then the closer I get to them the harder it is to hide it. The bad habits start to emerge, the weird relationship with food, the nasty comments about myself, and the endless cycle of dieting.