[symphony-calamity]

"do it scared" ok but I would like to do something some other way occasionally. Like at least once. For a change.

[feraligatr]

jack of no trades. master of fuck all

[kosmogrl]

[vixvigil]

at least sisyphus only had one never-ending task. i have like 50 and all of them cost money

[resentmentsuggestions-archive]

I’d pray if I thought god could hear me.

[on-the-planet-zzzz]

Why pray to god, when I know I won't be heard?

[resentmentsuggestions-archive]

Once upon a time, I had hopes that they would reach someone.

Old habits die hard, I suppose.

[lelif]

on self-sabotage

the bomb, florence + the machine// appointments, julien baker// abject permanence, larissa pham// never wanted to dance, mindless self indulgence// king, florence + the machine// quote: lauren e. bowman// in the woods, tana french// does the universe fight for souls to be together?, jamie varon// olivia laing on loneliness, marrying the poet ian patterson and the challenge of intimacy// left alone, fiona apple// @mjalti //renegade, taylor swift// a burning hill, mitski// ICU, phoebe bridgers// legit tattoo gun, the front bottoms// just, radiohead

[mandymovie]

Autobiography of a Wound, Brynne Rebele-Henry / X / Blythe Baird “If My Body Could Speak”

[everybody-wants-me-dead]

[weltenwellen]

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

[heavensghost]

life is vulnerability

[weltenwellen]

Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

[slaughtervoid]

i still don’t know how to talk about it.

there was a time when i was better at poetry. i think i was on better medication then. i think i did talk about it, kind of, in the ways i knew how.

i think part of what makes it so hard is that it’s not over, and it will never be over. still a little kid, still thrashing and kicking, choking on snot and tears, whistling sobs. did you know it isn’t better when you can fight back? it doesn’t stop. it doesn’t make it feel better. it isn’t less shameful to remember.

i cried so hard it made me sick. that’s what happened, actually, i think. i got so scared and so tired that i stuck that way, like they always warn you is gonna happen when you make a face. and now it’s over, but it’s not over. and i’m always tired like something’s holding me down. like someone’s holding me down. and they are.

sometimes i think about it, about whether they should get in trouble. nobody’s ever going to court for this. nobody remembers me. sometimes i’m ashamed. i couldn’t have been the only one, no matter how much it felt that way. who else did they hurt? who else have they hurt since?

it’s such a niche thing, is all. when you say he touched me or she hit me that’s clearcut. when you say a normalized institutional form of violence there’s a bit of a dawning lack of comprehension. and it can be more understandable, to say they held me down. i was crying, i was screaming, i was begging for it to stop. but then you get to no, nothing else. no, you don’t understand- they just held me down.

i am being held down. i will never get up off the tile floor. i am pinned to it like a bug, like a wild animal. the body knows what the brain refuses to think of: i am never going to be let go. i am never getting up.

[janijones]

[metamorphesque]

― Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

[keryahoraculi]

Yulia Shibirkina

[airecl-deactivated20190822]

la collectionneuse, eric rohmer, 1967

[dct239394cvvd098dffgggp]

every good thing has the inherent sadness about it for when it passes and it will have to pass. everything will have to pass. its all onboarding trains and then watching them go by from train stations and i hope the next thing i love kills me