So Sad Today: Personal Essays

by Melissa Broder

BRINGING A CHILD INTO THE world without its consent seems unethical. Leaving the womb just seems insane.

Validation is my main bitch.

Had I been verbal I would have extended a compliment in return so as to assuage the implicit guilt of my own existence rubbing up against praise.

feeling sort of blessed and sort of miserable.

Staying drunk seemed like a very practical solution to me. If you could drink yourself into happiness, why would you stay sad and sober? And if you could drink yourself into ultra-happiness, why would you settle for regular happiness?

I was let go for hugging the publisher, instead of shaking hands, in front of a primary advertiser. The publisher never explicitly told me what I had done wrong, but as soon as I came out of the embrace I knew it was bad. I judged myself for it.

taxis, tried to have sex with gay men,

I save the bulk of my calories for the end of the day so that I have something sweet and seemingly unlimited to look forward to.

Do you want to be a chubbette or do you want boys to like you?

Weight Watchers points is a beautiful system for someone who is absentminded about food.

I dream of what I would eat if I identified as a man and it looks vastly different from what I eat as a woman. There would be so much pizza. The Mountain Dew would runneth over and it wouldn’t even be diet. If I do not believe that I as a woman deserve pizza, what does that say of my views of other women? If I do not love my body, how can I love the body of any other woman?

I am saying, yes, baby, I know it’s hard.

I want to live in a body that is so far away from being fat that it has room to gain weight and still not even rub elbows with chubbiness.

The anxiety of the sexual act is my sexual act: a love story.

I don’t even masturbate to you anymore because it’s too sad: a love story.

I don’t want to be older and wiser, I want to be younger and hotter: a love story.

When I send nudes I like to receive a full dissertation on their greatness: a love story.

Me: I keep my pussy even more pristine than I keep my feed

There are so many people and we’re all awful in our own special ways; yet somehow, I’m the most profoundly, existentially awful.

If I could have stayed drunk all the time, I wouldn’t have had to get sober. But I couldn’t, so I did.

There is something about the Internet that, even when it sucks, holds infinite potential at all times.

Once a cucumber turns into a pickle, you can’t turn it back into a cucumber. And I’ve been pickled by the Internet for a long time.

I feel bad that when a younger person tried to suck my tits recently, there were depth-perception issues involving sagging.

I feel bad that I posted about the police brutality protest on Facebook in the first place.

I feel bad that I got kind of high on the vibes at the police brutality protest.

feel bad about my struggle, because it is nothing compared to other people’s struggles and yet it still hurts.

I feel bad about this essay. I feel bad about this book.

Now let me just say, before we go any further, that if you’re thinking of using nicotine gum to quit smoking you should not let my experience scare you. I am the addict’s addict.

Cigarettes soon became meal postponers, or—when paired with Diet Coke and Trident cinnamon gum—meal replacements.

Imagine you have a special friend you can take with you into any situation. This friend makes you comfortable in your own skin.

They said that chewing the gum is better than smoking, but the constant nicotine is probably bad for my heart.

But I feel like I have two hearts, a physical heart and an emotional one. And while the gum may have an adverse effect on my physical heart, it does wonders for my emotional one. It ballasts and buffers, nurtures and excites.

intimacy between me and other people. It’s never just me and another person, it’s me, another person, and the gum.

My fetish is vomit. Not vomit itself, but the act of vomiting. Vomiting is hot. It’s a primal, involuntary act—much like ejaculation. There’s guttural sounds and animalistic faces. It’s gross but it’s real.

My mother, who wasn’t the traditional nurturing type, behaved in a way that was very nurturing toward me. She cuddled me and gently bathed me. My own powerlessness, coupled with a new experience of tender care—her acceptance of me at my most disgusting—was intoxicating.

wanted this pretty girl to know shame, the shame that I felt in my own body. This turned me on. At the same time, I felt that Kimberly—as a pretty and popular girl—was beyond reproach.

In retrospect, I may have simply been sexually attracted to Kimberly, vomit or no vomit.

Ten years ago I found a wonderful website called Slaveboy’s Vomit Fetish, which featured videos, audio, images, and even erotic fiction (my favorite) of people vomiting.

What? I got off to this? Now imagine that scene involves copious vomit.

Hot people. You can abstain from alcohol and drugs. You can’t abstain from people.

Also, love at first sext.

(FYI: It’s probably never really about the person you think you’re obsessed with. It’s about old pain.)

I felt glad it was ruined. I felt strong and free.

This essay was supposed to be about not checking the messages. But I am a human being, so obviously that didn’t work out.

Anyone who can meet my level of intensity can’t be totally normal.

I said: lol sorry it had to end like this I said: say goodbye to me please lol

It said: Why suffer? It said: Fool them. It said: Fool yourself.

Actually, maybe it is just the American beauty industry talking. Fine, then. It’s loud as fuck.

I hear the “you’re fucked” voice a lot, with or without Botox. In fact, it’s the “you’re fucked” voice that compels me to get Botox. Only now I think I’ve fucked myself because of the Botox.

I google some more and discover that Jennifer Aniston doesn’t do Botox. I am worse than Jennifer Aniston. I am worse than a lot of people.