#genuinely think the lack of sleep has been aggravating a lot of my issues i’ve been weirdly flipping between like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonshinemornings · 4 years

Text

in my skin

i’ve been thinking about writing this for a long time, and I think I’m at a place where, more so than being comfortable talking about it, putting my thoughts down might help me continue to chip away at my complex.

I want to preface this by saying that my fixation on how my body looks is infuriating to even me. this is for 3 reasons:

1) there is an endless list of more important, broader existential crises to be concerned with instead of how I look (what am I heading towards? am I genuinely happy pursuing a capitalistic, societal definition of success? what is purpose or value in my life???)

2) even on an individual level, so many other aspects of a human make up their person and make them interesting other than how they look and its stupid to be so concerned with this one thing that means so little if anything at all

3) I’m not even that stupidly far away from societal beauty standards anyway wtf like stfu

regardless, I think my thoughts about my body are reflective of how I think about myself relative to the world in general. I’ve also found that the relationship I have with my body is often a symptom about how I am feeling about my self worth at a certain point in time, and also manifests in how I see and treat the people around me. for these reasons I think it can be valuable to unpack these feelings even though they may seem asinine.

the first time I became conscious of my body was in my primary school dance club, when we had to get measured for our costumes. most of my friends were generally skinny and I wasn’t significantly larger than any of them. but the nature of (chinese) dance and the kind of girls that joined it made the general impression that it was better to be lithe and delicate - the moves just looked better that way. the revelation that I wasn’t as thin as I could be was not groundbreaking. it didn’t trigger any immediately toxic thoughts either. it was just a thought I hadn’t had before, that my body wasn’t perfect. It also didn’t affect me much because I had a lot of good stuff going on in school; I had great friends, I did well in school, everything looked good on paper and in real life (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I peaked in primary school). so it wasn’t a huge trigger for anything, just a planting of a seed, I guess? dormant.

as I grew into my teens my body was often too busy serving its intended purposes for me to be concerned with how it looked. I played sports all the time, I woke up early and went to bed early (when possible). I ate well and I was active. It wasn’t difficult to be relatively fit, so I wasn’t really that concerned with how “good” my body looked. like all teens, I did become more concerned with standards of attractiveness and whether or not I conformed to them. I noticed how people’s bodies differed and what people liked. I was aware that I was not on the top of my teenage male acquaintance’s who-would-you-bang list, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. I wasn’t super pleased with my body but I definitely wasn’t unhappy with it. and frankly speaking, I didn’t think I was unattractive lah like ya I might not be hot shit but I was definitely not ugly and I was pretty confident with what I had to offer. this was probably also due to the fact that I did well in school and extra-curriculars, so I found my validation elsewhere.

for a short time between high school and college I had a body goal I wanted to work towards, time on my hands and a motivated support system, so I started working out for an aesthetic. It wasn’t super serious and there were no hard and fast rules, plus it was genuinely fun to work my body. I had been an athlete for several years at this point and I knew I felt good when my body was well-worked and maintained, so it was never difficult to bring myself to work out. the results were a happy bonus. looking back that was probably the time when I had the healthiest relationship with my body. I liked using it and spending time on it for the sake of doing it, I liked how it made me look but never to the extent that it became my main motivation for working on my body. if I had the luxury of unadulterated, stressless time, I could probably do it again. when I started college I was healthy, I looked good and I didn’t even care (we’ll come back to this).

when I started college things started to fall apart. my time in university was, overall, pretty shitty for my mental health. it was great in a lot of other aspects, and I can say with little doubt that it’s helped me grow into a person I not only want to be but am comfortable with. but the process was a shit show to put it lightly. when it comes to my relationship with how I look in particular, I think my years in London have unfortunately left me with a considerable amount of trauma. to make a long story short, I had an ideal of what I wanted my college experience to be like, but half a year into it I found myself severely unsatisfied with every aspect of my life. I wasn’t doing well in school, I felt like I was underperforming socially, I was conscious about the difference in affluence between me and the people around me and I was generally unhappy with the space I took up in my own and other people��s narratives. amidst all this, I put on some weight because (1) I wasn’t working out anywhere as much as I used to (2) the weather, my mental wellbeing and the food readily available made me eat a lot of junk. but instead of acknowledging and focusing on the underlying inferiority complexes that were eating away at me, I sought alternative validation through things I could seemingly control i.e. how I looked. it became the case that it was no longer that I looked a certain way because I worked out, but that I worked out because I wanted to look a certain way. and when I didn’t look a certain way because I was eating shit or going out or because it just plainly was not realistic given my living situation, the lack of validation would further aggravate the inferiority complexes and unhappiness with my person that started this toxicity to begin with. i ended first year treating the people around me like shit, not having anything to show for the hours of studying i put in, and a lot heavier than when I started it. family and friends pointed it out and i was pretty chill about it whenever it happened. i honestly thought i wasn’t that affected by it (again, brushing under the carpet the problems I had with the expectations I set for myself), and that i could lose the weight if i put my mind to it.

then in second year i developed an eating disorder. a couple months into second year I hadn’t made much progress with either my mental or physical health. I often ate till I was physically uncomfortable because I had a general problem with self control (I had none, in fact I didn’t want any, but that’s a story for another time). One night after eating too much, I went to brush my teeth and I was so full that when I gagged lightly from brushing my tongue, I involuntarily threw up the food that was filled up to my gullet. A normal person would’ve registered this as a cue that they should be more conscious about how much they’re eating. I saw it as an opportunity to eat as much as I wanted (for what?) and still be (or at least feel like I am) in control of how much weight I put on. and so I developed bulimia. the bulimia was closely followed by a binge eating disorder - seeing that now there was a mechanism to keep my intake in check, I could let my eating habits, which were in fact reflective of my control problems unravelling, go crazy. I told a couple friends about it because I thought maybe I needed help, but I never really told them how bad it could get. some nights I would go down into the kitchen in the middle of the night twice. thrice. seven times. I would look for anything I could inhale. cashews dipped in peanut butter. seaweed with a cup of yogurt. three packets of chips and a large slice of cake. instant noodles and jam straight out from the jar. it didn’t matter. it all ended up coming back out of my mouth and into the toilet bowl anyway. I would go out for meals with my friends and we would over-order. the paiseh pieces would be left on the plate and if no one wanted them, i would eat them. immediately afterwards I’d go to the restaurant washroom and throw it up. and all this time while I treated both food and my digestive tract like they were toys, my fixation on how I looked grew. spoiler: i did not lose weight from being bulimic. but I very much did lie to myself about it in order to keep at what was actually a coping mechanism for the rest of my life that was falling apart around me. I threw up everything I ate today, do I look different? I didn’t throw lunch up, but I worked out, so it should cancel out, does it show? I ate a salad but because for dinner we had baked rice I threw half of it up, it didn’t make me bloat did it?

towards the end of second year I had a rude awakening that forced me to drag myself out of the shit hole of a mindset I had casted myself into to address the personal issues and the lazy, irresponsible, selfish attitude that had gotten me to this point. luckily, when I dealt with the underlying dissatisfaction I felt towards myself, my problems with food disappeared along with it. right now I don’t have an unhealthy relationship with food. if i were being generous, I’d say it could even be considered pretty healthy. my relationship with my physical body is also pretty good. I eat balanced meals, I sleep well, I work out when I want to and lay in bed and eat junk when I want to. I don’t force myself to get activity in, I don’t force myself to eat more or eat less. in fact, I think I am really inching towards getting the intuitive eating and living thing down. I’ve lost some weight and I definitely don’t hate how I look anymore. so I think I am in a good place for the most part.

my relationship with body image and the validation I feel from how I look however, has been (permanently?) affected. as it stands, I am scared about two things.

first. I like the person I am right now. my life is not super in check, but I’m holding it down pretty well. but in the past two years, when i had nothing under control, the way I looked was the only measure with which i valued my worth. do I only place less emphasis on how I look right now because, like when I was in high school, I have other things going for me? if, come one day, life happens and the going gets tough, will I once again come down on myself because I don’t look perfect, even though I don’t look shit? will how I see my body and how I feel about it be affected every time something else in my life causes anxiety or unhappiness, and if that happens is there a risk of it starting a vicious circle of self-toxicity?

second. like I said, I don’t hate how I look right now. but I also don’t love it. since coming back home, after a shower or when I’m changing or whenever I’m deciding what to wear, I stand in front of the mirror, and I look into it for what I can tell is longer than I would like. I don’t give myself shit for how I look or dislike what I see. but why am I looking anyways? am i checking to see if i like my body any more or less today? why do I care? why should it matter how close or far I am to society and my own definition of an ideal body?

recently I watched a video that said despite the positive intentions of the body positivity movement, a better approach would be radical body acceptance. body positive says that even though I’m fatter or shorter or flatter or whatever-er than the beauty standard, I am still beautiful. radical body acceptance argues that words like fat or thin or flat or short or thin should just be neutral words. there is no good or bad linked to them and there is no good or bad body type. bodies are not “beautiful however they may look”. they are just bodies. I’m trying to strive towards this idea of body perception, to go back to a place of not caring how I look in and of itself or relative to anything else. how I look will just be how I look. to be clear, I don’t think this mindset is the best one that should be universally promoted. I do however think it is the best method for me. this is because I’ve found that ever since developing a fixation on my body and how it looks, sometimes when I see other people the things I take notice of most are their bodies as well. I don’t think I go as far as to assign worth to their person or character because of how their body looks, but I can tell that I’m developing a fixation on other people’s bodies (even if I don’t compare it to mine) and I feel like it subconsciously blocks a clear, genuine perception of them as people. and, of course, it feeds into my obsession about how I look. the more I care, the more I care. so I want to focus on caring less, and eventually not caring.

I would like for a day to come where I can put on clothes and not feel the need to change out of it because I don’t like how I look in something before leaving the house. I would like even more if I didn’t feel the need to look in the mirror before leaving to begin with. I would like to be able to not feel badly if someone points out I gained weight, but I would like even more to not feel happy because someone says I’ve lost weight. I would like to stalk fewer girls on instagram to see what their bodies look like in different photos. I would like to stop being concerned about how my body looks in different photos. I would like for a day to come where, whenever I’m not actively thinking about it, I forget how I look. slowly but surely, I will take steps to make this happen. it took a while to rebuild a healthy relationship with food, and then a healthy relationship with my physical body. surely it will take longer to rebuild the relationship with the image and idea of my body in my mind. I think the moment I forget the image exists will be the day I manage to do so.

#hello

3 notes · View notes

youngster-monster · 5 years

Text

put a ring on it

There is something to be said about surprise visits from Tyrande and Malfurion — something incredibly rude, that is. They always drop in uninvited at the worst time possible, sure of their welcome and of their own importance. Contrary to popular beliefs, Illidan does have better things to do than humor his brother: his job as a researcher in Fel magic is nothing to scoff at.

Actually, it’s a damn prestigious job. His brother is just being a dick.

But no matter how little Illidan wants to drop everything to deal with his twin and childhood friend, there’s still a small, annoying part of him (the one that feels obligated to give old people his seat in the bus and reminds him not to insult possible benefactors, even though they’re dumb as a pile of bricks) that won’t let him close the door in their face.

It is tempting, though. Especially today: the setting sun is drowning his living room in warmth and he’d been halfway to a nap already. He was so comfortable that the idea of ruining his peaceful afternoon with a discussion with his brother is about the last thing he could ever want.

Illidan puts his hand on the doorknob, opening his mouth to tell Malfurion to quit it with the knocking, when he realizes: he’s not quite alone, is he? It’s Saturday, so Kael’thas showed up in the morning with pastries and a pile of research magazines, as per usual, and they’ve been laying around for the better part of the day. His friend has been pretending he’s not napping on his couch for maybe an hour, too sleep deprived to pay attention to whatever magical theory caught his attention. Illidan is so used to having him in his home he completely forgot about him.

Well, they’ve known each others for years. It’s about time he got the full Malfurion experience. Misery loves company and all’s that.

Illidan opens the door and ushers the two inside with barely a roll of his eyes at their stilted hellos. Why they even bother coming by as often as they do it a mystery to him.

He can’t stop them: that doesn’t mean he can’t complain about it.

He leads them to the living room: his flat is too small for them to sit comfortably far away from each others in any other room. He’s faintly relieved to see Kael’thas mostly awake, flipping through the same Arcanic Arts & Studies issues he’s been staring at for an hour. He’s taking as much space as physically possible on the couch, his head propped against the armrest and his bare feet crossed over the other — he’s small but he’s like a cat, stretching as far as possible to get comfortable. It’s hard to tell when you don’t know him but to Illidan, who’s been working with him for years, it’s obvious he only just woke up. His hair is slightly less than perfect, a few strands sticking out of place and falling over his face; he’s not paying any attention to what he’s reading; also, he was sprawled face-down in a pile of cushion barely five minutes ago, which is a pretty big indicator.

Kael’thas looks up at their arrival and quirks an elegant eyebrow at the newcomers, conveying in that simple gesture how little he’s impressed by them. His gaze shifts to Illidan and softens into familiar amusement, and a small quirk of his lips tells Illidan he’d be rolling his eyes if it wasn’t unbecoming. It’s reassuring to know Kael’thas will always be in his corner, even when he’s just waking up and has no idea what’s going on.

Still, because Illidan might be a good friend somewhere deep inside, he decides not to push as far as letting Malfurion and his wife sit next to Kael’thas. It’d be awkward for everyone involved: Kael’thas is extremely territorial and this is his couch, and sometimes Illidan’s as well: he might just claw Malfurion’s eyes out if the man tried to sit on it. Would it be amusing to watch? Yes. But also messy and difficult to explain to a judge. So Illidan makes a beeline toward him, lightly taps Kael’thas’s shoulder to tell him to scoot over, and flops down on the couch. Kael’thas immediately goes back to his initial position, legs thrown over Illidan’s, and he shakes his head with a small sigh but doesn’t complain.

Tyrande sends them a dubious look as she sits primly on Illidan’s armchair. He wonders if he’ll have to clean it from her almost-tangible disgust afterward. Malfurion is left without a seat — he takes one look at the floor, covered in a soft, bright red carpet and half an inch thick of loose paper and choose to stand instead. Smart man.

Those are Kael’thas’s papers. He brings them every Saturday and, each time, fails to grade them like he intended to. The future of almost fifty students depends on the grade he’ll give them and he’s been putting it off for long enough that Illidan is close to giving in and helping, which has of course been Kael’thas’s goal since the start. Illidan is a magical genius and a very busy researcher, and his best friend uses him like a TA or, at best, a personal assistant. Asshole.

Malfurion clears his throat.

“So,” He says awkwardly, and looks around. “You’ve been, huh— fine?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” More awkwardness, and then, gesturing toward Kael’thas and suddenly looking like the Moon herself sent him a miracle in the form of a convenient topic of discussion, “I don’t think we’re acquainted. Do you mind introducing us?”

It’s not, in essence, an actual question. It’s more of a demand, really. Illidan does mind, thank you very much, but he still nods tiredly. “Malfurion, Tyrande, this is Kael’thas— Kael, those are Malfurion and Tyrande. I talked about them before, I think.”

He did, at great length, mainly to complain about them and this exact kind of situation. Kael’thas nods and smiles like Illidan has never said anything remotely mean about the two.

“Yes, you did! And I’ve heard about you, Malfurion. You’re a druid, if I remember correctly? Fascinating field of study.”

“You’re studying druidism?” He sounds genuinely excited at the idea, the poor thing. He has no idea what mess he’s getting into.

By the Moon, Illidan thinks, Not that again. Malfurion is worst than an evangelist when it comes to druidism.

“Oh, no, absolutely not, far from it in fact,” Kael’thas chuckles. He waves off the very concept of him studying druidism (a rather weird idea, if Illidan thinks about it) like it’s not worth considering. “I’m very much a mage and I fear any other kind of magic will have to stay in the realm of theory for me.”

“Ah.” Malfurion snorts derisively. “I should have guessed.”

That was not a smart thing to say. Kael’thas is very proud of what he does.“Why, pray tell?”

“Well, you’re kind of the stereotypical mage, right? Frail, Obviously dabbling in Fel magic,” And he makes a sweeping gesture toward the mess of the living room,”Clearly more into the theory than the hands-on experience…”

Kael’thas rolls his eyes so hard Illidan is afraid they might stick like that. They’re very pretty eyes, despite — maybe because — their odd coloring. In this Malfurion is right: it is a sign of Fel magic. Illidan himself is beginning to show some effect from his handling of demonic artefacts, and Kael’thas has been helping him in his research — his eyes are even brighter nowadays than they were when they started working together. They’ve yet to go back to the poison-green hue they had in college, when Kael’thas first tried Fel energy.

(Those were bad days.)

“And you are clearly a druid, if I may say so.” Kael’thas tilts his head and starts counting on his fingers. “Tactless, with a superiority complex and no understanding of the basis of other schools of magic.”

Malfurion sputters in indignation. “What would you know about druidism?”

“Please,” Kael’thas sighs. “I’m an Academy teacher. I probably know more than you do about the theory of it, although I was never interested enough to try it myself.”

“Blood elves don’t have the magic for it, anyway,” Malfurion dismisses with what might just be a sneer. Illidan does it better.

“Excuse me? Those theories have been proved wrong decades ago—”

“Boys,” Tyrande cuts in, a patient smile on her lips that Illidan recognizes as her ‘Malfurion is obviously right but I must pretend to be impartial For Elune’ smile. He’s been on the receiving end of it countless times before.

But Kael’thas is on a roll, and not about to be stopped by anyone and especially not her of all people. “I’m sorry, Tyrande was it?” He looks contrite, but Illidan can hear the start of a game in the lightness of his voice. He almost smiles in anticipation. “I’m not sure who you are. I mean, Illidan mentioned your name, but—”

Kael’thas, being Illidan’s best friend and drinking buddy, knows exactly who Tyrande is. He laughed a great deal about Illidan’s past crush and present aggravation, by the way.

She looks annoyed, but like she’s being kind about it. “Oh, I guess he wouldn’t have told you— Illidan can be quite secretive with acquaintances, right?” She smiles. “I’m his childhood friend— and crush.” She chuckles like it’s the best joke she ever told. “I know, right?

The lack of subtlety is a hundred times more painful than the jab itself. Kael’thas shrugs it off without the smallest hint of effort. “Oh, I wouldn’t really call us acquaintances.”

Malfurion takes the opportunity to jump back in the discussion. “How would you describe your relationship, then?”

What is this, the Inquisition?

“I’m sorry?” Kael’thas looks— physically hurt by Malfurion’s bluntness. It would be funny if Illidan hadn’t just cringed so hard he pulled a muscle.

“I mean, what kind of relationship do you have with my brother?”

And Illidan— Illidan is tired. Annoyed, because they have no right to barge into his life like that, but mostly tired of it. So he glances at Kael’thas, the gold ring he wears on a chain around his neck (it’s full to the brim with magic, barrier spells just a word away, a little wonder of enchantment) and the one around Illidan’s (a similar object but geared more toward healing spells: it’s used almost daily, because his job requires him to deal with a lot of dangerous, volatile magic) and he speaks before he can think.

“The married kind, Mal.”

Silence falls. Kael’thas looks at him without any outright emotion, calmly assessing the situation, and doesn’t say anything. Tyrande stares. Malfurion— says the first thing that comes through his mind, probably.

“You didn’t invite us to the wedding.”

Illidan gestures at the gold band around his ring finger. “Neither did you.”

“We didn’t think you’d come, considering your feelings for Tyrande—”

“Malfurion, please.” Illidan shakes his head. “You’ve been dating for years and I haven’t felt anything but irritation for you two since I left for college. I would have liked the opportunity to laugh in your face when I said no, at least.”

“And we eloped, anyway” Kael’thas adds with a big smile.

“Yup. Got drunk, drove across the continent, got married by a gnome dressed as a blood elf in Dalaran, ate cake and made out all night long.”

Kael’thas sighs wistfully. “Good times.”

The visit is cut short after that. The two unwanted guests leave with cold ‘goodbyes’ and Illidan slams the door shuts as soon as they’re off the welcome mat. He puts on the three locks and, when he’s sure they’re not coming back without a fight, shuffles back to the living room and falls in his armchair. He wrinkles his nose: it smells like Tyrande perfume. Ugh.

At least they’re gone, now, and shouldn’t be back for— hm, with luck, a month, maybe.

“Your brother is a bit of a dick,” Kael’thas says conversationally.

“You don’t say.” Illidan looks up and meet his eyes. Kael’thas has that look, the one he gets when he’s put in front of an interesting magical problem and is dissecting it in his head. “Thank you for the help, by the way. I’m sorry for making my brother believe we got married in Dalaran by a Sig Nicious impersonator.”

“It’s alright,” Kael’thas says, and reaches out to pat his knee. “It’s not like I care what your brother thinks of me.”

Illidan chuckles. “I saw that, yeah.”

A moment passes, Kael’thas having finally settled on an article and Illidan gone back to the one he was reading Malfurion and Tyrande came.

“Although, if you want to make it up to me—” Illidan makes a derisive noise. Kael’thas ignores him. “You can always buy me dinner.”

“Will take-out from the Dragon’s Den suffice?”

“As long as you’re paying.”

They always eat together on Saturdays (it’s a good excuse to give their colleagues when they’re not feeling like going out and getting drunk, which is basically all the time) and Illidan ends up paying almost as often. He has a minor in Politics and arguing with the heir of the Sunstrider family is still too much of a challenge.

“Yeah, alright.”

When Illidan was younger, the idea of routine disgusted him. It seemed boring and predictable, everything he didn’t want his life to be. Now he’s just happy to have regularly-scheduled breaks, considering they are the only things standing between him and first-degree murder charges.

So Illidan’s life is full of little rituals. On Mondays he buy coffee for all his subordinates (good minions are hard to find and he’s learned supplying them with caffeine is the quickest way to get their absolute loyalty), Tuesday is Bribe Day in the institute and Cookie Day in his department (and if those who bring him the good ones, the ones with caramel chunks, gets a slightly better treatment this week, well, no one can prove the connection), and so on and so forth. It’s reassuring to know some things will always happen, even when it’s things like the explosion of unstable Fel enchantments and the mysterious disappearance of every sharp object on Thursdays because it’s when he has to go and talk to whoever is handling their budget and it’s stressful, alright. It would make anyone consider homicide.

Wednesdays are slightly different. It’s the only day in the week when he gets out of the Fel Researches building and let his subordinates slack off for a few hours while he drives to the Kirin Tor Academy. It’s also the only day in the week when Kael’thas gets out of his classroom for more than the ten-minutes trip to the coffee machine and back, because Illidan comes to drag him out for lunch and a well-deserved break for both of them.

Their fields of study are close enough that they often have to work together, but there’s nothing like eating something terribly greasy and trash-talking students and council members together.

“I swear I spend more time arguing with Rommath than teaching nowadays.” Kael’thas stabs his chopsticks at Illidan for emphasis, “Can you believe he dropped off all his work on my desk because he had a date night?”

Illidan carefully doesn’t mention that Kael’thas has been pretending to forget his papers at Illidan’s house in the hope they’d be graded when he got them back for years, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit out loud that he has been doing Kael’thas’ work for him all this time. It’s one thing to do it and another to say out loud what they both already know. He lets Kael’thas vent, rests his head on his hand and watches him wave his hands around.

If asked, he could probably make an educated guess at what Kael’thas is saying, but the truth is that he’s stopped listening a while ago. His mind is somewhere else, distracted by thoughts of Malfurion and Tyrande’s visit the previous week-end. He can’t stop thinking about the way they reacted when he told them he got married without them knowing it. It was hilarious, and yet something in it nags at him. Something about the look he exchanged with Kael’thas behind their back, the way his eyes kept drifting to the ring around his friend’s neck, thoughts what if circling in his head.

And even as he thinks about all this, his eyes can’t quite get off Kael’thas, his eyes that glint like jewel in his excitation and his golden hair and every little detail Illidan somehow keeps rediscovering after years of friendship. The sight is so familiar yet it stirs up unknown feeling in him, a kind of warm anticipation, like butterflies in his stomach.

Kael’thas excuses himself to go to the toilet and Illidan takes advantage of his absence to hit his head on the table with a groan.

Of course he had to choose now to develop a crush on his best friend. When has his life ever been easy, after all?

#writing #World of Warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #Malfurion Stormrage #Tyrande Whisperwind

18 notes · View notes