Matt Joseph Diaz

I've long considered myself a collector of failed relationships. From the girlfriend I asked out during a bar crawl and dated for eight days to the conservative Christian who thought her love was “saving me from a life of debauchery,” I actually gained a little pride from my list of failed love affairs. However, while these relationships were problematic, what made them “failures?”

Dear anti-feminist men, 

I’m writing to you because I want to have a discussion.

People who live with mental illness are aware of how our brains work differently. Because of this, we constantly go the extra mile to try to validate what we’re feeling within ourselves before even considering voicing an opinion out loud.

This Monday, Matt talks about female comic characters. Batman? How about BatNOTSOMUCHMAN.

"The universe is a big, dark, cold empty space — but you're not any of that. You're a light."

Taking the time to find clothes that I liked, to dye my hair, and get tattooed — for the first time I was building a place of my own.

When I lost that ability for a while, being too weak and swollen to really put the effort in, it felt like I’d lost a part of myself. It felt like I’d regressed, like I’d gotten to the finish line and was forced back into the race.

This is the trap we fall into when we discuss recovery, emotional development, mental health, or body image: believing there’s a destination.

Matt talks about how to deal with being stared at. 

Not sure how to stay mindful about the motivations behind how you fuel and move your super rad bod? Allow Matt to explain:

Of course, summertime also seems to come hand-in-hand with partial nudity. Wearing next to nothing out in public is just as important a part of summer as barbecues and trips to the beach. That is, unless you’re anything outside the socially acceptable body types. Then it suddenly becomes an opportunity for people to dole out their own specific kind of “fashion justice.”

[CN: alcohol] Once we were in her apartment she grabbed me by the necktie, kissed me softly on the lips, told me to take my clothes off, and walked into her bedroom. Her clothing dropped to the ground piece by piece from where I stood to the bedroom — like some sort of Hansel and Gretel breadcrumb situation (if it were less creepy and filmed for Cinemax).