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@abstractabsurdism
“I’m not open with many people. I’m usually very quiet and I don’t really like attention. So if I like you enough to show you the real me, you must be very special.”
— Unknown (via quotefeeling)
Today was the first day you really trusted me. The first time that I felt that you trust me. That is of such incredible worth, because it took so many years.
(therapist voice) and why are you butthurt about that
i realized that two people are having sex on the Marauder’s Map in Harry Potter
hahaha so there WAS sex at hogwarts.
does anyone ever do the opposite of dissociate?? where youre just suddenly and uncomfortably aware of your situation and reality
more to the point why do i get that feeling when im sitting on top of my kitchen table watching a velveeta mac and cheese pack spin in the microwave for three and a half minutes and im just like I Exist I Am Here And Theres Nothing I Can Do About It
okay this one wins, everyone can stop reblogging this now
TBT to that time my uncle told me “Well, luckily they will fade eventually” and I was like “They better fucking not or else I want my money back”
Nobody is easy to date. Everyone has their insecurities, flaws, and certain ways of doing things that makes us who we are. Perfect people and relationships only exist on TV. The most important thing is finding someone who loves you on your worst days and will fight through the hard times.
That first sentence legit just made me cry. Wtf.
Re-blog if you're accepting anonymous asks from anyone about anything
just because you fed your kid and put a roof over their head doesn’t mean you succeeded as a parent lmao if your child cannot navigate adult life in a healthy way you have failed. if your child has such deep self worth issues thanks to decades of you only focusing on what they were doing wrong, you failed. if you tell your child that having money is more important than happiness and doing what you want in life, you’re a fucking failure.
it’s because you didn’t choose me that i no longer eat.
why do people like boobs anyways??
How Asperger's has always felt to me - even though I didn't know I had ASD.
ASD to me feels like I am starring in a film and I didn't get the script. I wasn't even informed about the genre. In that aspect – now adressing all the people who think Aspies don't feel empathy – we are like psychopaths. They also didn't get the script. BUT here's the twist: Unlike us, they don't feel they need one. They will write their own script and if they wreak havoc wherever they go they WILL NOT CARE.
We are trying to write the best script we can. We expect the best and laugh along with our bullies at times. But sometimes we get it wrong and it doesn't affect just us, it hurts other people.
I am not a psychopath, but I can hurt people. I wish I was a psychopath, because then I wouldn't care. The fact of the matter is I probably care more than neurotypicals, because I don't have control over how my brain interprets social cues at times. I don't mean to hurt. I feel horrible about it. I can't help it. And I will never be fully able to help it.
I will just get better at acting.
I will learn how to write a better and more accurate script every day.
And it will be tiring, but I will do it
so that I don't hurt the people I love.
Petty Lies
When I was at boarding school there were girls with me. Girls that lied. Lied to me. To us. Lied with me. The boys surely lied too, but we wouldn't know. The lies stayed inside the brick walls of each building, becoming generally accepted truths as soon as they touched the air outside.
The lies were heavy, but trivial to us. Like someone having slept with their teacher or having had three abortions before the age of fourteen. They were ugly lies. It said everything about our small insular society that those stories were the kind of stories we told to feel proud.
It was only at night that the border was crossed. Drunk or high we began to question the lies, but the questions were forgotten or ignored the next morning. Once you had an image it was rocksolid and no truth could touch or break it.
I told lies sure enough. Lied about how I had been drinking before boarding school, when actually that one sip of vodka that I sipped while I told the lie, was the first time I had ever tried hard liquor. I was the girl that was cold, untouchable and who swore too much. The boys disliked me, the teachers adored me and the girls for the most part respected me. I was perfect at the game. I could create masks so well, it was as easily done as breathing.
We are the first generation to not celebrate emotion. The Grunge generation felt too much, making suicide a literal epidemic. We – the next generation – we are proud of being numb. Of fucking whoever, no strings attached. Drinking til we pass out, because we sleep all day anyway and what's the difference if we died. We are the generation that has all the scientific knowledge about what is killing us. Yet we gorge on fatty burgers, cigarettes, vodka and acid.
The real question in this is: Do we not feel or is this another lie? And does the tragedy of our lives lie in that we have convinced ourselves that this lie is our ultimate truth?
Because eventually there does come a point when we become grand creative artists, when we experience too much love for us to handle. Or we kill ourselves, when we feel too much pain for us to handle. We are junkies of life, seeking eternal highs in a world that offers us everything and thus makes us feel nothing.
White Flowers
Sometimes I feel like Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. Like I am searching for some way to express something so ultimate, so pure, so rich, so meaningful. I am searching for words, not scents, but the idea is quite the same. No language I have learned thus far has provided me with the words neccessary. I feel as though I might explode any moment, whenever the sensation of this knowledge I hold and cannot express becomes all too consuming. It is too loud inside my head on any day anyways. Eacht thought, each action, each encounter is evaluated over and over again. Every word lasts as long as a brief kiss, lips barely touching, yet my mind creates a love story greater than has ever been, after my mouth does not even remember the touch. I feel too much. I think too much. Quietness on the day I die and not a day sooner. A century back they would have called it melancholia, I do not think our age has a name for it. I am too filled with sensation. A constant overflow, so much that the only way I can function in this world, is to keep completely quiet. I am silent, calm, I smile here and there, now and then. Inside my head, though it's burning. A wildfire, a storm that is creating fields of vibrantly-coloured flowers and killing them at the same time. Life and Death always were the same game to me. Nothing in me lives that hasn't once died. Corruption creates senstaion. I am screaming screams of white noise.
Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you were the one who carried you through the heartache. You are the one who sits with the cold body on the shower floor, and picks it up. You are the one who feeds it, who clothes it, who tucks it into bed, and you should be proud of that. Having the strength to take care of yourself when the world is trying to bleed you dry, that is the strongest thing in the universe.
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