Ananyamously.yours

Sometimes when you are an adult, there comes a time when grief makes its way into your body from your mind. It coils into your chest and drops down an anchor into your heart. And it doesn't stop there; it rearranges the hands, the legs and the whole being to run on autopilot.   But patience, I am coming to the point. Before I do so, I must digress a little more.   It's not just grief, but stress that manifests as anxiety, pressure that becomes tension and helplessness that turns into hopelessness, all to become a weight you cannot shake off. It’s in these times that your mind revolts against your own body and declares a decree, saying ‘thou shalt not be hungry!'   I mean, fair, considering that you’ve taken all this and prepared your body to exist in fight or flight, even if this isn’t a battle you can win with your fists.   The actual story begins here, though, in hunger.   When you are at your lowest, like a weight is trying its hardest to pull you to the bott...

There is one sentence I keep coming back to. Not the breakup. Not the men. Just this one,   I wonder if I've swiped past my person to keep scrolling toward a hypothetical one,   because it names something I don't think we've fully admitted to ourselves yet: we didn't get worse at love. We just got worse at appreciating what is right in front of us. I want to tell you I'm above it. I'm not. I have opened an app in the middle of missing someone real and let a hundred strangers' faces flatten the missing into something manageable, something scrollable. Spoilt for choice, screwed for life.   It sounds like a joke until you sit with it. The apps promised abundance. More people, more options, more chances to get it right. Somewhere in the architecture of infinite scroll, we stopped meeting people and started auditioning them. Stopped asking Do I like this person?  And started asking,  Is this the best that is available to me?   Those are not the same question. On...