#emotions and stuff

[quillsandblades]

He hates himself for loathing that person, and he wants to make it right but it always goes wrong and every word that leaves his mouth feeds the fissure, cracking it deeper. He hates himself for saying too much and too wrong and it doesn't matter if he wants to make it right, the person's long gone.

And he's not the only one guilty and they're not the only one innocent cause there's more than just two sides to that picture. They both use villain and victim, guilt and pride interchangeably. And he wants to make things right but every single time he is his biggest traitor.

So he wonders if it matters and why not let the blood crumble through his fingers like sand? Why the effort to keep it in? And he answered himself and can't really decide if he likes it or not:

It's because he can't let it all go, he's not allowed to hate. He's supposed to fix it and he doesn't know how.

He's not allowed to hate and he doesn't want to either, but hate doesn't ask for permission before rooting in his chest - so all he can do is hate that hate. Abhor himslef for it because there's no one else to put a name to. He wears that hate and it becomes him, because when things go wrong they don't point and blame that hate. They blame him.

He can see both sides of the story. He sympathises with it.

But then he wonders if they do too? Or have they already gone past a point?

"I know I fucked up. Tell me how to make it right."

A pity how difficult those words are to actually say to their face.

Because it takes away a piece of him to lay it bare before them, and he's not sure if that's exactly a good idea anymore. They showed interest in his words and then used them against him when he opened up, they twisted things that made him happy so now he never shares. Afterwards he just listened and listened and listened to them and thought how he would never use those things against them. Even if they did.

So now he doesn't want to reveal any more pieces of himself.

But he's supposed to make things right. Because everyone says they'll live without him eventually but he'll never be able to do the same. And the thought kills him a little from the inside every time.

[egophiliac]

missed the mark by (looks at calendar) uhhh. hm. but I really wanted to do something for the 5th anniversary! happy five years to these idiots 🎉

[professionallyunstable]

the devil couldn’t reach me so he made me feel like i dont belong anywhere.

[wildyoungsoul]

Brain dump in a dead blog

My tummy hurts and I’m stuck in the bathroom, so why not have a brain dump? I’ve been perpetually stuck in a book that I’ve read thrice over by now called “The North Wind” by Alexandria Warwick; no one in my life has read it, so I’m just swirling, stuck in the story. Like a snow globe that I refuse to leave because books are so much better than reality.

BUT

One of my favorite webcomics, “Under The Oak Tree”, just published volume 1 of the comic as a book, AND the original book has finally been published as a hard back. I absolutely ADORE Riftan and Maxi, and I love being in their story (though it has me stressed because “season 1” ended on a bad cliffhanger and I haven’t had the fortitude to keep reading the series). I bought the kindle versions of this story over a year ago and made myself ill by binge reading the books and only sleeping 12 hours over the course of a week, so I’m thankful only the first book is out.

BUT

My TBR is in stacks all around my room, and every time I turn around I’m adding new books to my TBR. I don’t know where to start; I’m honestly enjoying just looking at the books.

BUT

I’m also going in circles about the political climate in the US right now, how my birthday is in a week and I’m wondering how much I care; how my mind can’t seem to focus on a single thought beyond the survival mode items, about how my “best friend” barely feels like my best friend anymore and how I won’t cut her off because losing her daughters (my nieces) steals my breath and makes me feel like I’m passing out…. I keep thinking about my Crohn’s Disease and I’m beyond anger at this point about the fact that I can barely eat vegetables. All I want is a salad, but digesting lettuce feels like I’m digesting a cheese grater, and I HATE how aware I am of my terminal ileum. I keep thinking about how fucking lonely I am; how I want to have a movie marathon and cuddle with someone- but not cute cuddles, I want to be an octopus. I want to wrap myself in someone as much as they wrap in me, and I have no one. Does anyone know if professional cuddling is a thing in the US, because I need it? Idek at this point. Maybe I just need to lay in a forest and disassociate for a bit.

Later

[morutecutie]

unfortunately i DID take what you said to heart and now i’m sobbing and debating on whether i should kill you or kill myself

[moonsavage-blog]

A reminder

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© Magdalena Koscianska, Instagram: magda.moonsavage | Check also my Tumblr photo blog, Shapes and Shivers

[yourgirlinpieces]

i hate that kind of sadness where your chest physically hurts

[lintufriikki]

he's all ears 💙

[totheoneswhostayupallnight]

Constantly switching between healing and complete self destruction

[quillsandblades]

Something nips at the thoughts, it consumes, ravages and sinks deep down among folds of words and memories and voices. Deep enough to pretend it's no longer the cause of that gaping hole in the chest. That emptiness which feels like fading, like disinterest, like a nothing.

Maybe it pushes and prods at memories, feelings we keep buried, fears we assumed no longer existed. Trauma we didn't know we had.

And all of that rises.

Next second you're listening to someone talk, smiling and humming and laughing, while trying to commit the sound of their voice to memory. Because one day they'll die and you'll be alive. It's not fear, it's a fact. A fact that's tagging along with us every second of our lives and we chose to ignore it for a while when everyone's breathing and chatting. Because death has this deceptive quality of feeling infinitely far away at times. It fools us so easily.

Your thoughts are swirling again. The emptiness that burrowed low before, tosses and turns and other things emerge. Suddenly the insignificant ache below the ribs feels like a far sinister thing, an uneven bump on the skin makes the stomach curl in dread. Solid things, material things shift under the weight of fingers that stumble for something to cling onto. Desperately.

A deep breath.

It's fine.

Interest won't stir when your eyes wander to things you always love. You know it's there, the pull, the itch of curiosity, but you can't reach it. Not right now. You know it's temporary, this emptiness, this lack of excitement. It'll be gone soon, but it's impossible not to wonder that is this what complete detachment, disinterest, hollowness would feel like? It's scary. The idea that you can't love the things you used to even if you want to. It's not you, it's a shell of skin and bones. No one wants to live that.

You breathe.

It's fine.

Sleep will come and the next day everything will be normal (because this, whatever this is, it's temporary. You know it).

You'll wake up, death will be far away and fears can be laughed at.

No, fears can never be laughed at

[melxhunter]

I feel like there are a lot of people out there who needs to hear this:

If you dropped out of school because of diagnosed (or undiagnosed) ADHD, Autism, ADD, OCD, Dyslexia, Anxiety, Depression, Bipolar disorder, psychotic disorders, schizophrenia etc… You did not fail. The education system failed you.

[soaked-doors]

when it rains, it pours

[sleeplessv0id]

maybe in another universe, I can ask for help when I need it.

[seasprays]

i’m gonna be honest w you all there rlly are some days where i miss my ex more than i can bear and not even in a romantic way or anything she was just my best friend and consistently made my life richer and wo him i am more often just stagnant and sad

[nemosopenletters-blog]

I just want to be important, too.

[condemned-girl]

Sometimes killing myself doesn't feel like enough. Sometimes I think I need to be erased from history