im only joking @ashtashcashmash - Tumblr Blog

The streets I walked on are falling apart and the people I care for are crashing and burning. This world that I live in is constantly yearning for something more tangible. Something less rational. Something they can't seem to find that's less natural. I spy the fires that burn in their hearts. They singe holes through shirts and they drive out the darkness envelops their faces, grabs hold of their hands. Kisses them, lies about all of its plan to take over their lives, to devour their souls. Woe is the man who gives in to the foe, for he does not know that the enemy tries to put out the flames and close the man's eyes. You are not safe from harm, you are close to defeat when the fires burn and your soul has been beat - he has won.

#02222017 #1058

mardews

thedapperproject

I’ve survived a lot of things, and I’ll probably survive this.

J.D. Salinger (via thedapperproject)

battibatt

nobody talks about how ugly taking care of yourself can be

yes, sometimes it’s taking a warm bath and texting memes to friends and keeping an aesthetically pretty journal.

sometimes it’s crying silently on your couch at 3am, hugging yourself and reminding yourself that you’re a good person.

self care is not always ‘aesthetic’ and cute…and that’s ok. don’t be embarrassed, just do what you need to do.

my problem is i really don’t know when to shut up i’ve gone too far

i swear i should start writing everything in a personal notebook and i have one and i do write in it occasionally but there’s something exceptionally liberating and artistic about writing exactly what you’re thinking and exactly how you’re inspired and throwing it out there into the universe even if no one will see it. i would do that with a piece of paper and throw it off a bridge but i don’t litter so this is the best alternative there’s something therapeutic about grabbing what’s on your mind and letting it go somewhere else without having to directly tell someone else it’s freeing and it may get traced back to you and you may have to be embarrassed or feel like you owe explanations but don’t apologize for doing what you have to do in order to maintain your mental health bc self care is important and i think at this point I'm really just coaching myself i hope no one is reading this i never really publish anything for another pair of eyes. if i know it’s out there and i can come back to it to see my progress, i am satisfied. it’s definitely all i’m after. who invited you anyway?

i am more likely to show symptoms of anxiety when i’m on my period and i am already going through way too much shit right now as it is so please hurry the fuck up mother nature and get it over with so i can breathe properly i am begging you i cannot eat my eyes are burning but i cannot sleep my heart is pounding but it cannot beat my mind is tired it’s over it it’s done with the thinking and my teeth are too nervous to touch each other so my tongue is uncomfortably fixed in the middle of the cavity in my mouth my fingers are cold because the blood is rushing to my abdomen because i am shivering because yes i am cold no it’s not the weather my core temperature drops when my brain is in distress i am quivering all over and trying to stay still in order to calm down is not an option that only makes it worse i find myself telling my eyebrows to relax every 4 seconds because they’re wrinkled from the constant worry that’s knocking on every door and banging on every wall in my brain but do you understand that the most abysmal part of this is i can’t even figure out whether or not i truly feel this way or if it’s my hormones fucking with my anxiety because women are cursed with this dreadful horrendous biological phenomenon my jaw is now clenched my brows still angrily concerned do you know how tiring it is to mentally remind yourself to breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out because i will actually forget to utilize my lungs

writing on a piece of paper is amazing. ink to page: there’s something thrilling about that sensation. the loops and characteristic shapes of letters who look nothing like anything anyone else wrote because the tips of your fingers, like their prints, have created an original piece of art on their own that may never be recreated again, even by the very cells that put it together. dancing around thin reconstructed bark to send signals to the rest of the entire universe, once thrown out there to exist forever or to be lost in a vast pool of disacknowledgment

You're asking for a lot right now and I'm not down to give it to ya

I remember the ugly feeling. I remember what it's like to love and not be loved. I remember the sleepless nights. The gagging. The cries for help no one could answer. The emptiness. I remember that ache in the pit of my stomach and the base of my throat and the hole in my chest. There was a time where Marius looked at me with love in his eyes for someone else. I remember those days. Those were the days. The days that I reveled in. The days the devil laughed as I submitted to his requests. The days misery held my hand and regret combed through my hair with its fingers as I laid down eyes closed on a bed of sorrow. My body was one with defeat and numbing pain, eating itself as depression rotted the extra cells. I was thin and coarse. Blunt and elsewhere. Not present. My mind a blank canvas. A piece of white paper placed on a black desk. Flat. Unwrinkled. I wrote nothing. I thought nothing. I ate nothing. I drank nothing. I breathed nothing. I lived not. And I am brought back to those days when I see my face in hers. I remember

#10062016 0209AM

I love reading what sad me wrote. It makes me laugh. Distressed and depressed and overwhelmed with the feeling of not feeling and not being and vacancy and angst. Dwelled in misery, unknowingly soaked in sorrow and reveled in loneliness. Hoped and prayed and cried and ignored, never having received an answer or a call but knew the only reason these words weren't getting to her was because, though she asked, she did not want. Sad me was hopeless, in fact. Not a true believer of what she claimed to be a believer of or in or for, for that matter. But the more she claimed to be, the truer the claim became, convincing herself hope was within arm's reach and hand's grab and finger's pinch. She wore on until the days became confused with the nights and the stars in her eyes became the stars in the sky, as her dreams came true and she heard the lord's voice calmer than the areas surrounding the eye of a hurricane, quiet as the rebellion, passive as the starving, weak as the mother fighting for her child's life. The lord's presence surrounded her house her heart her core her life her fingertips and hair follicles drenched in the word of God the lukewarm water spewed out of her mouth and the breath of life poured into her heart as he said they will fight against you but will not overcome you for I am with you and I will rescue you. Save a single breath she collapsed, hoisting herself into the unknown, but it was known to her God was the constant through the change the judge presiding over the trial. As her body went limp she was caught in his everlasting eversaving everbeing neverchanging grace I laugh at sad me I laugh at past me I am happy and she is dead

Lord, teach me to be selfless and appreciative and to give my time to the people who matter