On one hand, I found the story quite compelling -- but on the other, it made me horrifically uncomfortable. Which I didn't really realize until a while after I'd finished reading. Parts of it kind of made me feel like all I've done to accept myself has been... well, lying to myself, in a way. Does that make sense? Like maybe it's not acceptance or self-love, but just more excuses. Even though I know, intellectually, that it's not. Some parts of it almost felt like listening to my mother's preferred attack plan, the "you have to do this so you don't die" (and no bloodwork would ever convince her that my cholesterol levels are within the norm). I don't know, in a way, I kind of wish I hadn't read the story now, even though I did initially leave the author a very nice comment. Ugh, now I'm kind of feeling uncomfortable about leaving this comment here, as well, since I probably should be bringing this up with the author, instead.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 09:18 pm (UTC)