this is the picture of a beautiful woman who survived everything and then some more.

i don’t want just to show the aestheticized version of my life here. writers, at least real ones, don’t live off aesthetics. clarice lispector didn’t, dostoevsky didn’t. they both went through horrible things that they documented, and this isn’t to say tragedy makes you “better”, but at least we can learn something out of it. clarice was haunted by melancholy and depression, and so was dostoevsky, but he was also persecuted by the government and sent to prison for years. but their tragedy didn’t end in their pain. they made something wonderful out of it, and i plan to do the same with mine, but first, i need to document it and survive it.

what i’m going through feels impossible at times. the food is so little and the stress in my body is coming to a point that my acne is flaring up like it hasn’t since i was a teenager. besides the family abuse, violence, and harassment i’m going through institutional abuse, which can feel even harder. but here i am. and i refuse to give up, even in the hardest of days.