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Perhaps if I fold myself up very small

As a tiny leaf upon the ground

You will find me there and put me in your coat pocket

And carry me around

And take me out

And hold me to the light

And admire me every now and then.

—Juliet Darling, “Hold Me To The Light” (aka a lovely poem about what many of us would surely like to do with a certain melodically-voiced fey woodland creature)

(source)

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     “I come here to seek solitude. I like to be alone. People exhaust me: everybody needs something.”

Ypsilanti, MI

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I love the rain. I love how it softens the outlines of things. The world becomes softly blurred, and I feel like I melt right into it.

Hanamoto Hagumi, Honey and Clover  (via larmoyante)

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Five Going On Fifty

You know it's bad when you're told that you are wise beyond your years. You know it's awful when a picture from your youth emerges and it is brought to your attention numerous times that "even from young you were so mature." Your stomach starts to hurt when you realize that your first memory is a funeral for a grandmother whose name you carry, yet you can't remember. And maybe that's why I've always been "mature." I was the one who cleaned the scraped knees, consoled the crying, embraced the lonely. Consequently,, I never laughed the loudest or smiled the widest. Maybe this is because I understood that life is finite and one day I won't be able to twist like a pretzel or find footie pajamas in my size. "You were amazing, so disciplined." Essentially, I was a 30 year old trapped in a 70 pound body. It's really fucking sad. I was robbed of a childhood. I was forced to grow up so quickly that I wasn't even aware of what I was missing. Did the funerals and hospital visits and whippings age me? Or maybe it's just the way I was programmed. Regardless, I will always be bitter at the fact that while the other little girls picked daisies I picked fights about views on politics and religion. I never experienced the boy-band crazy phase or yearned to crimp my hair. And maybe I sound foolish and selfish, and I probably am, but I want to rewind and trade my solemn face and morbid thoughts for rosy cheeks and piggyback rides. I pray to God that one day my mind will be at ease and I can frolic freely, releasing my mind from the troubles and chains that have been weighing it down since the ripe age of five.

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     “Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’m one of the most inconsistent people I know in terms of forming good habits and trying to better myself. I end up losing a lot of things because I forget where I put them—I never put something in the same place twice. I need to work on solidifying my mind, because it’s mostly liquid these days…and drinking and smoking doesn’t really help. It’s a weird cycle: I drink and smoke, then get upset because I procrastinate or fail to do something, so I drink and smoke more to stop feeling down. That’s basically what I’m going through now, and I’m trying not to let it become a full-blown depression. Yesterday I was just walking, and I must’ve looked really upset because someone said ‘Hey, do you need two dollars?’ Before I could even answer, he gave me two bucks.”

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“No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”

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     “I’m majoring in math, but I don’t know what to do with that. I just know that I don’t want to have one job my entire life. I want to be able to move around—and I don’t want to live in America.”      “Why not?”      “I don’t like a lot of what’s happening here and what the country does. I don’t agree with American ideas, policies, and laws. I don’t really agree with anything America does: I think it makes terrible decisions, and I don’t want to support that by living here.”

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Why My Doctor Won't Give Me Any More Antidepressants

I asked my doctor to give me more antidepressants today and he looked me in the eyes and told me that the only thing in the world that would help me is God. He told me that antidepressants simply numb and trick the brain into avoiding the pain that tragedy causes, only to have it resurface again later on. I was also told to never listen to the arrogant and inconsiderate humans who have never experienced tragedy, heartbreak, abandonment, or poverty, who have the nerve to tell the wounded “move on.” Or better yet, that “time heals all wounds.” As if sadness is something we can simply bury in the ground and walk away from. I learned that the only way we can deal with depression is to view the sadness as a weight. We must carry that weight on our backs. That weight will never be lifted from us as long as our bodies shall remain on earth, and as long as our souls wander in the unknown. Time will not cause these weights to crumble to the ground, relieving us from our pain and sorrow. However, the weight will make us stronger, more sustainable, and will train us for the pain we have yet to endure. This weight is eternal and is not something that I can merely “move on from.” And contrary to popular belief, I don’t believe that time will lessen life’s burdens either.

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The History Books Forgot About Us

I wanted to kiss you so badly that I woke up with my hands clamped ‘round my pillow. My lips were swollen and my bottom and top lashes intertwined, prohibiting me from staring into the incandescent glows the lava lamp on my great grandfathers nightstand provided. It felt as if the demon inside me took my stomach, defective heart, and small intestine, and constructed a slip knot. Only when I brought my shaking hands to my blood red cheeks did I realize I was sweating profusely - was this due to heat or the sight of you in my dreams, or did just the thought of your touch sent my sudoriferous glands into a panic? Needless to say I should’ve said more to the boy with the distressed flannels and hand-me down guitar, who I could imagine was almost as introverted as I. The only questions I managed to mumble were about the War of 1812 and The Watergate Scandal. What I really wanted to know was were his parents divorced too and had he taken Prozac before and what were his views on religion. But while I lie on my back completely submerged in black except for the poorly arranged glow in the dark stars on my ceiling I am forced to remember that I am in no condition to kiss anyone.

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