In which a poet named Juniper meets a faceless streamer who goes by Corpse Husband.
With all the joys of releasing her first book, there also comes set backs. Having a strong support system and people around you who care is the only thing keeping J...
What is the point of being alive if you don't at least do something remarkable? ~ John Green
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My closet is a disaster zone. I open the door and stare into it, stressing having to find something to wear. The last time I dressed up ended in a very traumatizing night.
Even though I don't fear any of that happening tonight at all, apart from the fact that the trauma is making me hesitate to pick something to wear. I hate it. I used to love those rare occasions where I could put together cute outfits for a night out or event of some sort.
It's like that joy has been completely ripped away from me. I stare at my options and take a deep breath. My go to casual dress sits right in the center of my hang-ups. I pull it out and examine the fabric.
The longer I look at it the more I hate it. It's bland brown color and zero pattern makes me question my choices in fashion.
I try on a jean skirt with a ruffled top and look at myself in the mirror. Instantly the ruffles seem like too much while the skirt is too little. I switch to a sequence off white maxi dress that's a tad too short in the back for my comfort.
My eyes gloss over the parts of the dress that hug my hips. I don't like how it makes my figure so obvious, I rip it off immediately. I hate every thing I put on and end up looking at myself in the mirror again but this time with only a bra and underwear on.
I scan every inch of me, picturing someone's hands touching it without my knowing. My hands hold the soft skin on my belly, seeing the little stretch marks painted delicately on its sides. My thighs curve in and then out and I let me palms rub along those dips.
Never in my life did I ever look at myself the way that I do now. With so much disgust and anger. Disgusted in the way that I look and angry at my head for making me think this way. I used to be the kind of girl to never have to look in the mirror because I didn't care about my hair being straight or having a little pimple on my chin.
Those tendencies are hitting me full force and suddenly I can't pry my eyes off of the new problem areas. As I turn away from the mirror in defeat, I catch something out of the corner of my eye that seems severely out of place.
There is a small piece of red fabric poking out from under a pile of old sweatshirts I don't wear anymore and have yet to get rid of. The reason this is so strange to me is because I don't wear red. It's not something I consider to be in my color palette.
Curiously, I walk over and gently tuck at the material expecting maybe a shirt or something. But as I keep pulling and more fabric calls out, I start to realize it's a dress. Then it hits me. The second the dull thing comes into view, I am immediately transferred back in time...
