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lilireinhart

A somber poem for Monday blues

He laid down his pen after a few quiet minutes.

And there was no ink on the left corner of the page,

Where his hand had been resting.

The ink had run dry.

And there was nothing.

Nothing left.

LR

lilireinhart

So.

I’ve seen this picture all over my Instagram for the past two weeks. With captions like “Lili vs Model” “who wore it better?” “Which one is hotter?” It’s been pretty hard to avoid. And I think it’s time I finally said something about it.

It’s disappointing.

This photo is being posted by fan accounts. The same fan accounts who love to talk about the amazing female friendships on the show, girl power, Veronica’s inspiring feminism, body positivity, etc.

And that is the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever seen.

This is a poll. A competition. A comparison of two bodies. It’s a feeding ground for comments of judgement and negativity.— “Betty is fat” “that’s not flattering” “the model looks way better.”

It is a perfect way to fuel this delusional idea that it’s still okay to put women on a pedestal and compare them.

I’ve asked myself so many times… how do we actually learn to love our bodies? How do we as a society, openly and privately, accept that all bodies are truly beautiful and there shouldn’t be a specific body type that is considered “the best” or the most beautiful? It’s so easy to say “embrace your curves” “everyone is beautiful!”— but to actually put that into practice is the hard part. It’s easy to convince others that we think this way, but it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t actually believe that.

I do not have that model’s body. I’m fully aware of this. I don’t have a thigh gap.. a 24 inch waist.. toned arms or abs. I am not her. And how dare anyone assume that I should look like her.

And the people who are commenting on this photo and weighing in on this poll… are the ones who are comparing themselves to the model as well. It’s so easy to point out someone else’s “flaws”, isn’t it? Because it makes us feel better about ourselves and about our own insecurities.

It’s upsetting to see all these young women who proclaim to be feminists participate in something that represents the exact opposite. To them I say: You are the problem, don’t you get it? You are promoting the idea that this model is what all women should look like and that it’s not okay to look like anything else. This is why we have eating disorders. This is why young teens are suicidal about their body image. This is why people have body dysmorphic disorder. This is why there aren’t nearly enough plus size models in the industry.

I hope that this makes you reconsider the next time you feel the need to comment on another woman’s weight or figure.

amazingbydesign

Signed onto this inactive account literally to follow the gorgeous Lili Reinhart and reblog this amazing post. 💙

sad-pigg-deactivated20170513

Reblog if you feel alone right now.

need to see if anyone relates

x-impulsive-x-deactivated202012

unspokendarknessinside

Thirteen reasons why is speaking some real shit and I hope you all listen

plot twist: JK rowling writes a series on voldemorts point of view

accioheadcanons-blog

“i looked in the mirror and cried. i look like an egg”

earthstory

Timelapse view of lava moving on the plains near Pu’u O’o, Hawaii. The hill in the distance is called the “Pali”, it is the mark of a large normal fault created by part of the island sliding out towards the sea. Lava cascades over the Pali on its way to the ocean during the eruption. This is substantially sped up from how fast Pahoehoe lava typically flows.

c0ffee-and-literature

Being suicidal doesn’t mean that I’m going to kill myself. Being suicidal is having this inexplainable ache while you’re living. It’s waiting for your life to end, and wishing that you didn’t have to carry on. Having this ache, and incapability to feel happy living, doesn’t mean that I am going to kill myself; it just means I wouldn’t mind dying.

S.A // I Wouldn’t Mind. (via c0ffee-and-literature)

indieteen

#gif #camera #Nikon

girlforce-deactivated20160106

Depression is not Lana Del Rey music, with smeared black eyeliner and tears running down your face. It is not a blood-stained tub, or the blade sitting across from you. It is not being rocked back and forth by a boy as he kisses your head and whispers “I love you,” repeatedly in your ear. Depression is not the dread you feel when the person you love the most doesn’t text you back. Depression is disgusting. It is low and filthy and dirty and it eats you away, bit by bit. Depression is the stale smell of your room and your clothes, because you have no energy to clean anything. It is sitting in the bathtub for hours as you feel that dirty type of clean, letting the hot water run down your body in no aims to stand up and turn it off. It is the hunch in your back and the the defeated slouch in your shoulders, the kind that your parents always try to fix, exclaiming “Sit up straight,” but what good does that ever do. Depression is the hours spent lying in your bed, trying desperately to fall asleep but never being able to. It is your eyes being so heavy-lidded and the circles under them that don’t fade, even after a good nights sleep. Depression is the sinking feeling you get when you enter school and your mind is already set - why would you care about your grades when you don’t even care about your life? It is the darkest kind of dark, the kind that intoxicates your brain and turns your best friends to enemies, your family to people you simply push away so they don’t have to hurt just because you do. It is the raw feeling of emptiness, the kind that gnaws at your very insides and leaves you nothing more than a walking skeleton, incapacitated and incapable of feeling anything but sorrow and sadness for nobody but yourself. Depression is the deepest hole you could ever think of, the only one you could ever think of because you dug it yourself. It is being not only unable, but unwilling to pull yourself up, having the darkness swallow you whole. Depression is not rain. It is being unable to see the sun, even after the rain has passed.

It is 2015. Stop romanticizing depression. (via lighthowell)

This is prob the first kind and of these posts i truly like and that feel honest

(via teamhydrate)

depression made me the person I am today

(via highanxietylowsleep)