Fat Girl, by Megan Falley

Hello my loves!

I hope you enjoyed my long reads post about self love and sexuality. If I had the time to write articles of that length and depth all the time, trust me girl I would.

Today, I am sharing with you a poem I found on thebodyisnotanapology.tumblr.com.
It's entitled Fat Girl, by Megan Falley.
I love how simplistic and direct it appears without compromising its depth and importance.
I recommend checking out her performance of the piece as well.
Check her out at meganfalley.tumblr.com

Hope You Enjoy<3


Fat girl, fat jokes.
Fat girl, skinny friends.
Fat girl stand next to fatter people to look thin.
Fat girl, fat camp, five years.
Fat girl lost 2 pounds and you didn’t notice.
Fat girl love your garlic bread.
Fat girl, vegan.
Fat girl, but red velvet cupcake taste so delicious.
(They do, try them)
Fat girl, pretty face.
Fat girl, Dean’s list.
Fat girl want fries with that.
Fat girl, don’t touch her stomach.
Fat girl, turn the lights off.
Fat girl, keep her t-shirt on.
Fat girl not pregnant.
Fat girl, food baby.
Fat girl named her dog taco.
Fat girl, bad bulimic.
Fat girl, binge and no purge.
Fat girl can’t even throw up right.
Fat girl unbutton her pants at dinner.
Fat girl heard, “nothing tastes as good a thin feels.”
Fat girl certain spicy, crunchy tuna rolls taste better than being thin feels.
Fat girl threw out her scale.
Fat girl, you are what you eat.
Fat girl, double stuffed Oreos.
Fat girl got her father’s genes.
Fat girl’s brother didn’t.
Fat girl’s friends come over to stare her brother’s chiseled abdominals
And ignore fat girl.
Fat girl don’t hate her body.
Fat girl hate the world.
Fat girl, fat mouth.
Fat girl, fatter fist.
Fat girl, fuck you.
Fat girl, heart so fat it needs it own zip code.
Fat girl, heart so fat, it uses the equator as its belt.
Fat girl, seafood diet: fat girl see food, fat girl eat it.
Fat girl heard all the jokes.
Fat girl finish the punch line before you do.
Fat girl cry in private.
Fat girl, thick skin.
Fat girl, dance anyway.
Fat girl, shirt off.
Fat girl, lights on.
Fat girl, lights on.


Writing Q&A (Part 2)

Hello my darlings!

Here is the second part of my writing Q&A. I have some actually interesting research articles prepared, because I know I have been seriously lacking in that aspect, but as you can imagine they take up a bit more time than the average post. So for right now, enjoy these questions and answers, and have a lovely day:)

What is your favorite article you have written for the blog?

That's a tough question, because all of them are so thought-out and Pulitzer prize-worthy. Kidding, of course, 99% of what I write is ridiculous. On one hand, I'm very proud of well-researched articles , like Is Fat An Insult? or The Danger of Thinspo. I feel like they help me prove myself to those who scoff at a young adult trying to play with the big boys of blogging.

However, many of my research analysis articles go to my freelance writing blogs, so I don't get to be as snarky or sassy or facetious as I'd like. That's why articles such as "Collarbones:WTF" and "Food Shame and Eye Contact" hold a special place in my heart: they reflect my personality, my sarcastic sense of humor, while discussing issues that are very important to me. My total lack of self-editing may not be as professional as some of my editors would like, but these posts are some of my most popular articles ever. Being yourself never fails in the long run, and these articles have helped validate that for me.

But pageviews and traffic aren't the only things that make an article standout in my eyes. Some of the pieces I have written, especially in the early FP days, may have appeared to be simple self esteem tips, but to me they meant, and still mean, so much more.

For example, How To Love Your Reflection, is not very long, it's not well-written, it's ridiculous and dramatic, but it's also a trick I have practiced every day for over 2 years. It represents how far I've come, how far I still have to go; it's a trick that was given to me when I was sitting in a hospital bed, waiting for some sort of miracle cure for the destructive self-hatred I was inflicting on myself.

That trick didn't make everything better, didn't fix my brain forever, but it proved to me that my recovery wasn't a worthless cause. If I could feel better about my reflection for just a few seconds a day, maybe one day I'd love myself again.  It's just words on a screen, I know, but it's also a little piece of my heart.

***Not a Writing Question, but I get it so often I thought I'd just tack it on at the end of this post:

No, that girl is not me. Her name is Laurence, she was a classmate of mine while in high school. She was one of the many volunteers who helped me make the first FP promo video. I would link to it, but it was made by a 16 year old (me) with zero editing or filming experience. It's not that cute:P

I haven't kept in touch with her since graduating, but I'm honestly glad she is the face of the FP blog.
She was always very sweet to me, very supportive of my work. She was gorgeous, but in an amazing natural way. She was smart, she was hardworking, but she wasn't afraid of having fun and being silly.

I could have picked any one of my friends to be the face of the blog, but I unintentionally chose the best girl for the job. It wouldn't feel right to have anyone else on the cover, come to think of it. so thank you Laurence:)




Writing Q&A #1

Hello my beauties!

As I get many questions in regards to writing, I thought I'd put together a quick Q&A for y'all, to tie you over until my next comprehensive article magically appears on the blog wall. This is part 1, expect a few more in the coming weeks. Enjoy<3

How did you start freelance blogging, or writing for other people?
Well, each blog/web magazine I write or have written for has its own story.
For example, Drop Of Pink, my first out-of-FPP writing position, was basically a miracle. I was a sophomore in high school, the blog was a baby, practically a foetus really, and I had zero qualifications as a freelance writer (to be fair, I still don't haha).
I saw that DOP had tweeted about a guest writing position, so I decided to send them an email.
Not because I thought I'd get the job, no. I just wanted them to look at my blog, so I could get ONE PAGEVIEW. That was such a big deal to me back then, one single person reading something I wrote.

But they seemed to like my stuff (I don't why, by the way, my writing was proper atrocious), so they took a chance on me. And 2 years later, here we are.

I remember when my first DOP article was posted, sometime in the spring of 2012. I ran up to my friends at school and we shrieked and danced and woo-hooed like 16 year olds do. Oh, memories.

How has the FP content changed throughout the years?
When I first started to write, a lot of my content revolved around eating disorders. I hadn't been out of treatment long, (little did I know my recovery would take a lot longer than imagined) so these issues I had struggled with were far from annihilated.

I started writing about these tips and tricks and challenges that I found helped me get a little bit stronger every day. Barely anything was researched, I had absolutely no posting schedule, the whole thing was a mess, but an authentic mess. No one but a few friends and a lonesome internet wonderer read my crazy little articles, but that's allowed me to be comfortable and open with the Internet about these deeply private issues.

Nowadays, the posts are much more varied, some creative writing, some guest writing, some researched analysis papers, some heart to heart rambles, something for everybody really.

One thing I have noticed that I'm not particularly happy about is that all my good, extensively researched material now goes to my other writing jobs. I love having absolutely no filter or editor on this blog, it's what makes it so fun for me, but that also means my expectations are much lower.
I need to make more time to write serious brainfood for all of you, because this blog is the reason I have all these opportunities today, and I can't forget that.

Have a wonderful week



Disfigured: A Short Story

Hello my darlings:)

I'm incredibly busy right now, so I apologize for the lack of interesting articles!
But I recently collaborated with my friend Adelaide on a short story. I present to you the first few pages, hopefully if you like it I will post the rest as we write on.
Please share it if you like it! Have a wonderful day, my beauties<3

He was looking directly at it. God, could he possibly be less subtle? Although I do enjoy his technique more than that of the people who feel that, out of respect for my scar or some shit like that, they should avoid my face in its entirety. This seemingly logical strategy results in many of my conversational partners staring off into deep space during our chats, as if they were pondering the philosophical meaning of such deep inquiries as our math homework.  

But at this very moment, I was only dealing with a level 1 glarer. And just like clockwork, 12 seconds after the beginning of our talk, my friend anxiety conducted his famous magic trick; the rising flame act, which consisted of making an aggressively red color rise from the bottom of my neck to the tip of my ears. Deep breaths, I told myself, focus on your breathing, look away, do not panic, but all efforts in vain, as usual. I gathered my books, mumbled some excuse and bolted out of our locker row.

You would think that after being disfigured for almost 4 years now, a girl would get used to the weird looks, the untimely comments and the snickering echoes. But that only happens in the pamphlets, where the survivor is so proud of her uniqueness that she gives conferences to teenagers everywhere and becomes a hero, a bloody inspiration. Yeah, right.

But back to the now; I was sweeping by undistinguishable faces, blurred by my lack of breathing and its resulting dizziness, tossing all bystanders aside, caring less and less about the casualties as I approached my trusty handicap bathroom stall. I know, being defaced isn’t technically a handicap, but since no one dares question my reasons for using it, I’m not going to let a perfectly practical sanctuary go to waste. I’ll occasionally get some curious expressions, adorned with question-mark shaped eyebrows and frown lines, but what else is new. I’m disgusting.
 I entered the dark room to find this slutty 10th grade couple going at it, and sure enough, when I turned on the lights and they spun around in fear to find me standing at the threshold, the girl screamed. Oh, the might it took to stop my fists from gently bashing into her obnoxiously normal face. I shooed them out, and what monster says goes.

So I found myself alone at last in this far-too familiar bathroom. I pivoted my head towards the mirror, and breathed a long sigh of relief. This barely-used-for-its-intents-and-purposes lavatory was seldom cleaned, thus leaving its mirror filthy with fingerprints and hairspray, and I loved it so. You see, my instincts failed me on a daily basis, directing my eyes towards the nearest reflective object, and leaving me breathlessly horrified at the sight of my reflection. But not this mirror, no, for all I could see through the haziness were vague shapes and colors, and for a single blink-and-it’s-gone moment, I looked pretty. The washed-out blond lion mane that is my hair somehow manifested itself as an angelic halo, caressing my delicate features, which is a phrase that seems foreign to my tongue nowadays.
I kneeled down on the grimy floor tiles, took a hiccupping breath, and wept. I didn’t cry, crying was for people whose feelings only stabbed a little. I oozed pain, I leaked despair. Every little piece of my body was aching, my hands were shaking. I couldn’t even hold myself up anymore, so I completed my disintegration by collapsing to the floor, clutching on to my books as if they too would try and flea from my atrocity. 

Why does every moment have to be so hard, I thought to myself, as I rose from the ground and dusted myself off. These episodic collapses weren’t exactly rare, and they, unfortunately, weren’t getting less frequent as time went on, like Dr Rashad promised. It was his entire damn fault, too, the least he could do was keep his promises.

I guess maybe you could consider it luck, like that stupid pamphlet girl probably would, that monstrosity hit a girl already lacking a reason to live. Less to lose, I guess. Because when you think about it, there are people in this world that have so much to lose, like friends, family, jobs, happiness. I mean, the cashier at Metro tells me that maybe I should be thankful that God picked me, a crappy person, with bad self-esteem, and depression, who hurts everyone around her, instead of some rainbow-farting angel. Well, she doesn’t exactly say it, but let’s face it: the number of times per week I showed up at her cash toting bags of junk, manically shuffling for change, making it clear to any bystander that I was on my way to a party of one binge fest, proves that life under this skin is the very definition of torment.  It was in moments like those that I wished I were dead, and moments like right now, heading back out into the scary, scary world just because there was nowhere else to go.

I hiked up the flights of stairs as quickly as I could, but not fast enough to make me all red and sweaty (I don’t need more ugly on me, thank you very much), and shuffled into my class right before the bell rang. I spent the rest of my World of Today class praying she wouldn’t call on me like she had a habit of doing, without my permission (The nerve!). It was this demonic app some of my teachers had discovered that randomly selected a student’s name to answer a question; an anxiety-afflicted child’s nightmare. It ran over each name, teasing us, like some sadistic game show, and if it landed on my own, the cynical ding of the bell unleashed the wrath of the big, embarrassed dragon, crawling up my face, burning it to a crisp. But today was apparently a lucky Monday, as I walked out of there scorch-free.

 I saw my friends down the hall, and called out their names: «Jessie! Jessie! Mel! Chris!», but in vain, no one turned around, except onlookers, their mocking faces smirking and judging me, with their friends right by their side. Dear students of this God-forsaken school, I’m really not going to miss any of you.

Back at my locker, I joined the aforementioned friends, trying as best as I could to casually join their conversation. Like always, however, I felt this thick gap between us, like I was floating in a haze far, far away from their reality. I couldn’t relate to what they were saying, I just felt off, like my body or my mind didn’t belong with those of other teenagers, the non-disfigured ones anyways.


How Fierce Was 2013

Hello my darling angel faces:)

I am back from a long holiday hiatus, one of the longest I have taken in months! But I gotta say it feels
Beginning this year with a fresh start and a fresh face
Acne scars, lazy eye, weird eyebrows:
2014 is the year of IDGAF I'm still fierce;)
good to be back.

I have a new article for Adios Barbie in the works, and I'm giving several self esteem workshops for young girls during the months of January and February, so the beginning of 2014 sounds mighty promising!

Speeeeaaaking of 2014, Happy New Years (belated, but it's still a new year, so tough) my loves! 

I already wrote an article on New Years Resolutions regarding weight for ANEB which will be published mid-January, so today I want to focus not on future goals, hopes and aspirations, but taking the time to look back at the past year, and asking ourselves:

on a scale of Rob Ford to Beyonce, how fierce was your 2013?

2013 for me was an nut job.
-scored new writing gigs for ANEB, Derriere le Mirroir, and Adios Barbie.
-interned at 3 different mental health/child services non-profits
-watched the blog grow intellectually and statistically
-graduated high school in Quebec
-moved 7 hours away from my haters to my awesome new dream school
-powered through recovery like no other mother fudger
-made the High Honour roll

but I also,
-had some of my lowest lows
-dealt with high school drama
-moved 7 hours away from some of my best friends
-recovered, but had failures and relapses
-watched my anxiety sky rocket
-spent most of 2013 on Tumblr
-was NOT ONCE on The Ellen Show (kidding, but seriously, call me girl)

Everything can change in a year.
I never could have imagined that any of this, the good or the bad, could happen in just one year. As The Mountain Goats say, "there will be feasting, and dancing, in Jerusalem next year", whether you decide to stay around or not.

Which is why my new years resolution is simple, and the same as the year before:
Live to see 2015.

Have an amazing day my lovelies:)


PSSSSSSS: here are some awesome videos to start out the new year:) 

1. god bless the vlogbrothers, the only ray of sunshine in my dark sky:) I'm kidding, but also not.

2. Laci is allllwwaayyyss on point, and in this video cleverly argues the selfie revolution, which is why I included a selfie in this post! Gurl, you go!

3. DO NOT WATCH IN PUBLIC, waterfalls of tears will shoot out of your pupils.