halabalou

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I’m BI I’m HOMELESS I have RADIATION POISONING and I’m NEW IN TOWN

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loose, foot loose

put on your fuckin

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yeah i use this pro gamer technique called "hitting every single button frantically with my little raccoon hands until something happens" you probably wouldn't get it it's really advanced

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you know what’s a good feeling? a real good feeling?

when sunbeams do this.

that is all.

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Welcome to a really rough comic about saying goodbye based on a quote by Griffin McElroy.

“When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful, poetic, and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair, but most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy. ... And its [the note] two-word message offered no clies to her whereabouts, but simply a promise that was left unfulfilled: ‘Back soon’.”

-Griffin McElroy, Stolen Century ep. 66

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one of the more valuable things I’ve learned in life as a survivor of a mentally unstable parent is that it is likely that no one has thought through it as much as you have. 

no, your friend probably has not noticed they cut you off four times in this conversation. 

no, your brother didn’t realize his music was that loud while you were studying. 

no, your bff or S.O. doesn’t remember that you’re on a tight deadline right now.

no, no one else is paying attention to the four power dynamics at play in your friend group right now.  

a habit of abused kids, especially kids with unstable parents, is the tendency to notice every little detail. We magnify small nuances into major things, largely because small nuances quickly became breaking points for parents. Managing moods, reading the room, perceiving danger in the order of words, the shift of body weight….it’s all a natural outgrowth of trying to manage unstable parents from a young age. 

Here’s the thing: most people don’t do that. I’m not saying everyone else is oblivious, I’m saying the over analysis of minor nuances is a habit of abuse. 

I have a rule: I do not respond to subtext. This includes guilt tripping, silent treatments, passive aggressive behavior, etc. I see it. I notice it. I even sometimes have to analyze it and take a deep breath and CHOOSE not to respond. Because whether it’s really there or just me over-reading things that actually don’t mean anything, the habit of lending credence to the part of me that sees danger in the wrong shift of body weight…that’s toxic for me. And dangerous to my relationships. 

The best thing I ever did for myself and my relationships was insist upon frank communication and a categorical denial of subtext. For some people this is a moral stance. For survivors of mentally unstable parents this is a requirement of recovery. 

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なんか並んでくれた😍💕 https://twitter.com/kikechi776/status/1130288022795145222/photo/1

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I disappear sometimes. It’s my thing.

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Hey if u like the ocean look at this its rly cool I think

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i beg the fuck out of you to not kill your spirit over someone not feeling the same way about you. remember the mental and emotional mountains you’ve climbed? they have no idea the beauty that exists within you.

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Lost in the woods, Big scribbles in red

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i would literally kill to walk around in a museum or a library right now. don’t even talk to me about coffee shops unless you want me to cry. god I miss being out and about

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also just like. its pretty fucked how many people with mental illness or chronic conditions are worried they’re “faking” it because. like someone looked at you. and said. that you were ruining your own life and your own body and your own future and your own happiness - that there was nothing actually wrong with you, you were doing this on purpose.

you battle these incredibly difficult intrusions, these symptoms which constantly assail you – and you’d fake that?? in what world do i gain anything by faking this? in what world is it winning the lottery for me to not be a functioning fucking human being??

but like i still wonder if i am faking it because it’s been suggested so much i just… have completely internalized it. and like. that’s pretty disgusting.

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i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.

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questionnaire on girlhood (read this, if you would, with your ankles crossed).

at what age did you stop wearing v-necks? at what age did you stop wearing shirts with graphics on them to prevent what? i was just reading it. at what age did you no longer wear “loud prints”. at what age did you resent a dress?

when you threw up, was it across the street from where you put your belly? did you ever skip lunch. when collapsing your ribs in the mirror, was it your mother’s voice in your head, or your own? could you laugh loudly or did you watch yourself laughing and worry about it. did you ruin your own hair at any point. how often did you say - oh, i hate mine and mean your body/spirit/mind.

how often were you not allowed access to girlhood. were you ever comfortable in locker rooms; were you ever comfortable at all. could you look at other girls without worrying you were looking too long. could you be a girl and belong. could you be a girl without flinching. could you be a girl without apology. did you have to be an apology so loudly it seemed delicate, sweet, raw.

how often are you yourself, and how often are you just beside of your body. do you fix your hair in the middle of your zoom meetings. do you worry you don’t cry beautifully. is it a meeting of your teeth or is it a hiss. are you alone? when was the last time you broke, and did you hide it? 

can you be home, or are you in unstable ribs. can you be safe. can you ever unhear the moon. can you pray loud enough. is the altar her skin, or is it inside you? is this enough. are you going, too.

are you okay? no, really, are you?

[halabalou]

sometimes a poem is just a poem and sometimes a poem is actually a confession and sometimes a poem is a person and sometimes a poem is a cardinal. sometimes art is just art and sometimes art is actually therapy and sometimes it’s a pipe and sometimes it’s also not a pipe. 

sometimes the text is “got home safe!” and sometimes the text is actually saying i already miss the way your hair feels in my hands and sometimes the text is a warning and sometimes the text is thank you for caring. sometimes you are on the phone with your friend and you’re talking about curious monkeys but you’re also both admitting how lonely you are but you’re also both talking about how love can be a bicycle and sometimes it is not a conversation it’s an intervention and sometimes it’s not a conversation it’s a poem and sometimes it’s not a conversation it’s an art piece and sometimes it’s just a conversation but more often it’s holding hands without touching

& sometimes you are in an argument about the dishes but none of the things you are mad about are about dishes, they’re about the stuff around the dishes and the hands and the soap and how he smelled on sunday of another girl. sometimes the dishes aren’t even dishes they’re blankets and sometimes they’re burnt food and sometimes they’re your favorite book. sometimes the song isn’t a song sometimes the song is a manipulation and sometimes the song is just bad and sometimes the song is stuck in my head from you singing it in bed and sometimes it is “i listened to this so i could learn what you like” and sometimes it is “i showed you this because i want to also show you my palm lines and my heart and the inside of my head.” 

sometimes you are dancing alone but you are not dancing alone because you are picturing seeing her in a green velvet dress across the room from you, and sometimes you are dancing with ghosts, and sometimes you are dancing with your mother’s voice. sometimes it is not a dance it is a walk and sometimes it is not a walk it is lying in bed and sometimes it is not lying in bed, it is not-dying, which is often good enough for survival purposes. 

& sometimes you say  oh, take a cookie with you when you go and you mean that i should take a cookie and sometimes you mean - take me with you, also. sometimes it is just burning something and sometimes it is burning something and sometimes it is burning a lot of other things first. sometimes it is just a shirt and sometimes it’s what you wore when you kissed her and sometimes it’s what you wore when you didn’t kiss her and sometimes it’s what you wore to the movies when you saw your last in-theatres movie without knowing it would be your last in-theatres movie. 

& sometimes the poem is just a poem and sometimes the poem is my earring in your hand and sometimes the poem is your smell and sometimes the poem is calligraphy and sometimes the poem is good lord you are addicting and sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is unfiltered yearning and sometimes the poem is an anvil and sometimes the poem is - can i write a home, can you crawl in, can we be like little ferns, all curled up in bed. sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is a dance and sometimes the poem is saying - no, i will skip showering, if you need me there, i’m coming.