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i am tearing the meat off this album like a polar bear consuming the sumptuous meat and blubber of a baby seal

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Watching twilight for the first time. Dialogue 10/10 hilarious. 💀

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idk who needs to hear this but your body is loveable 

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An episode of mania almost always always always starts out so euphorically, makes you feel like you’re on the perfect drug, makes your confidence and motivation sky rocket and has you romanticizing all the fun it baits you with. It feels so amazing, you feel like nothing can hurt you or get to you.

Then the irritability comes, genuine rage, such an uncomfortable and overwhelming increase in libido, dangerous impulses, social behavior to be humiliated from by the time you crash, severe sleep deprivation that disorients the fuck out of you the longer you go without it, without even feeling tired at all. But feeling completely out of control. And if it escalates, Lord help you. Hallucinations, bad paranoia, black outs, substance abuse (or relapse if you happen to be recovering), delusions, everything that could get you into a psych ward. It isn’t fun at the end and any pleasure you feel is completely illusionary.

The worst part is I still normally never want it to stop. Because the depression after, which gets so ugly and terrible the longer, more intense the mania is, is something I’m not looking forward to at all. That, and mania can really sometimes convince you that you love it. I’m not wanting to go there though, because I have a lot to lose. Even if I don’t lose anything, I’m tired of this cycle and just can’t afford to desire it anymore. So I’m managing where I can, but wow it’s just scary to watch it take you higher and higher into it, and further and further away from yourself.

This is precisely why I despise any sort of stigma toward bipolar disorder. It’s so misunderstood, misquoted, and mistreated. I just really want and need some help. My hands are so sweaty and shaky, my heart and my mind are racing, I can’t stop talking, I can’t eat. I can’t focus, I can only fixate. And it’s just so overwhelming already.

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Hike dump

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The Chai was so scrumptious.

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This regime wants to exert even more control over the news and information that the public receives – or doesn’t even receive at all. That's why it is attacking publicly funded media like NPR and PBS. But it's also part of a ploy to gut vital public services and oversight in order to clear the way for more tax cuts (and subsidies) that will predominantly go to the super-rich and powerful corporations. Know the truth. (Art work by @doodlebymeg)

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I actually cannot stop listening to “the view between villages” by Noah Kahan. I love it so much.

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Unrelated to everything i post but 🥵DAYUM

Caitlyn 🫣

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Dear C,

I remember that moment so vividly. The second I felt you rest your feet on mine and your blue eyes connected with mine, I felt lost. And that smile—God, that smile—I think about it far more often than I should. The happiness in it, the deep-seated happiness, is engraved in my mind. Did you like me then?

When I think about you it feels like I fall down a rabbit hole, the hole encapsulates me so deeply that I get lost. It's like a winding path where every turn leads you back right to where you were. Did you ever feel that way?

And your eyes, light blue eyes that exude innocence and kindness. It's like the second I see them again I am right back to where I was a year and a half ago, obsessed.

Knowing I’ll never know you on as deep of a level as I’d like feels like a loss. The way I feel is almost grieving. And, at the same time that I want my mind free of you, I also miss the way you made me feel. I miss just how much I felt when I thought about you. And the feeling may have been an obsession, but at least I felt something.

Something was always better than nothing, and I think that's why I never told you, because at least this way I could be around you. It may have only been in an acquaintance, slightly bordering on friendship way, but at least it was something. In the back of my mind, I feel that if I told you, you would've found me weird. You wouldn't have wanted to be around the dyke.

But what may hurt even more is that I will never actually know. All these conclusions and assumptions but in reality, I will never actually know.

I hope you are doing well.

With love,

Z

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Dear C,

I had never seen you before. At least not in the way I was seeing you then. I had been around you countless times before. But I hadn't known you—hadn't even really known your name.

But that day, I saw you differently. And for days, weeks, even months after that spark of recognition, I thought about you.

You confused me; I didn't even know if you were interested in someone like me. A girl. Sometimes I felt like I blended into the world around you, as if I was just like everyone else. Then other days, I felt like you were seeing me—really seeing me.

But I doubt it.

Did you ever think of me? But not in the way you thought of everyone else. Was it even possible for you?

I may—and likely will—never know.

All because of my predisposition to the fear of rejection, of not being good enough.

I still don't know if I'm good enough.

I don’t know why I felt so attached to you. So connected, even.

And why I still feel this way, even after everything.

Even after I stopped thinking about you every day, you kept plaguing my mind.

I fear that if you ever would've known, you would've thought about how truly and utterly obsessed I was—to the brink of being unhealthy.

Or maybe it just was unhealthy.

I tell myself I’ve discarded you from my life, from my mind—but sometimes that feels the furthest from the truth.

Why can't I ever get you out of my subconscious, the very depths of my mind?

Your memory somehow finds ways to linger in the crevasses of my brain.And sometimes, when I get quiet and am left with nothing but myself, I find you ending the silence.

Why are you still here?

Why won't it leave?

And in times like this—when I allow myself to think—I question what would've happened if I’d made it more obvious.

I fear I may never have complete closure.

That instead, I’ll just forget, or even simply block you out of my mind. Will the grip you have on me ever completely leave?

Or will it only become faint... and noticeable again when it tightens?

With love,

Z

[withlovexx]

Does pain need to be tangible to be valuable?

Does it need to be visible- A cut that bleeds? Tears that incessantly fall?

The emotions we feel, deep inside us, are among a cavernous expanse.

Is it ever really possible to let it all out?

“Cry it out”, “Open up”, but we aren't books, and our tears don't talk.

You can't simply rip me open, seam from seam, and read me.

The words on my pages aren’t visible to the naked eye,

and even for me,

they are hard to read.

Reading them is like trying to decipher a language that has been extinct for centuries,

and when I finally comprehend bits and pieces,

all it does is hurt.

I can feel the scratch of the pen used to write my pages cover my skin.

Do the words etched deep in my skin mean less than the visual way I express my pain?

If I yelled, screamed, and cried, that would be dramatic.

However, due to the lock keeping my pages shut,

I am seen as unemotional.

Yet sharing our pain isn't like pouring a glass of water. You don't get to pour however much you desire, you don't get the pleasure of being able to pick and choose.

It's all or nothing.

An ocean's worth, or none at all.