FWD/Forward is a new blog centered around the intersection between feminism and disabled activism.

Amanda writes from the perspective of someone with an invisible disability - fibromyalgia.

It was very familiar, i responded with:

One of my friends, who knows a bit about my mental state, has a habit of saying – ‘you look good today!’ Or, ‘you’re looking better, healthier, thinner!’

Among other things I have a near crippling eating disorder, so how he thinks telling me i look thinner is in any way a helpful statement is beyond me.

I hate it. I know he means well, but in reality it’s just selfish – he doesn’t want to deal with me being depressed or crazy, so he says ‘you look better!’ to distance himself from it.

And what am I supposed to say?
‘Actually I’m one step above cowering in a corner today so I’m out having a crack at enjoying myself?’
And what am I supposed to do? Not try to look, feel and act better? Isn’t that what you want me to do? Isn’t that the answer to all my problems? Am I supposed to cry and scream at all times like I feel like doing, do you not want me to wear my mask/ I thought you didn’t want to deal with this?


Tonight the sky is brilliant with stars, the air is sharp and I can feel my blood thundering in my ears. There's music everywhere and I can SEE everything, FEEL EVERYTHING. I'm higher than the clouds and my body is rampant with desire, no place could be better than exactly where I am at every moment, the night is never-ending. I know I'm talking too fast and smiling too much, and I know if I tried to sit still I'd get goosebumps, just so my skin could move.

Yeah, I went off my meds.

Time Passes

I don't even know what to write. Nothing exists in my head. I don't write because there's nothing to write.

Every day is the same, every day I do nothing.
My mind holds no information. Thoughts circle constantly, never leaving me in peace but nothing sticks.
I study, I read two paragraphs and I've forgotten what subject I'm doing. I watch a movie and it doesn't make sense because I can't remember the beginning.
I don't whether it's the meds or something else - I don't care.

Nothing is coming together, nothing is different, except that it doesn't matter anymore. I'm not happy, I'm not sad, I'm not numb, I'm not anything. I barely am.

I count hours, that is all I do.