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@cloudatlxs
â Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
[text ID: And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utterâ they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.]
i. how big is your grief today? how soft do her little grey fingers push against your spine? can you breathe past it, or is she deep in your mouth now; crushing the bird in your windpipe.
ii. how funny - emily dickinson writes hope is a thing with feathers. on a tuesday, i turn to you and say - this makes sense. grief has always felt feathered, too. gentle cat paws on an august afternoon.
iii. where is your grief today? does she nap in the tender of your breast, or is she plunging through the floor of your hips? is she holding your hand through the shower. is she dragging you in a perfect tango - down, down through the floor.
iv. someone asks me how i'm doing in that way. like grief is holding her hands over my eyes. i tell my therapist i feel lost. it is another way of saying - the grief is leading, and i must follow.
v. when will you be able to let go? and, my love, what would you even hold on to instead?
darling, you deserve so much more than what this world has given you
I send this in the aftermath. I never wrote the letter I said I would. Iâm sorry I didnât call. A long time had passed and I was afraid of frostbite. I was afraid of reaching across the glacial silence to find no one & you were right, in the end, your prayerful warnings all collected. I canât collapse the meadows like I said I would learn how to.Â
These days I only eat my own hair & wander the asphalt of Halloween & feel my insides churn like writhing pythons, all of it dark and dizzying, the worst kind of movie and an even worse reality.Â
You were right about all of it, and it hit me too late and too hard. In another version of this life I think we could bathe in mistletoe & call it ingesting potential.Â
you were right about all of it and i was never alone until i was actually-alone & the goshawk of winter crept up & devoured the pine bow i had left at your doorstep.
winter loss // a collab with r.i.d & the nosebleed clubÂ
continually updated list of resources with things you can do to support black lives
Share AND do what you can through the list. Even if you cant donate, you can do Something.
ITâS BROKEN.
âAt a certain point you say to the woods, to the sea, to the mountains, the world. Now I am ready. Now I will stop and be wholly attentive. You empty yourself and wait, listening. After a time you hear it: there is nothing there. There is nothing but those things only, those created objects, discrete, growing or holding, or swaying, being rained on or raining, held, flooding or ebbing, standing, or spread. You feel the worldâs word as a tension, a hum, a single chorused note everywhere the same. This is it: this hum is the silence. Nature does utter a peep - just this one. The birds and insects, the meadows and swamps and rivers and stones and mountains and clouds: they all do it; they all donât do it. There is a vibrancy to the silence, a suppression, as if someone were gagging the world. But you wait, you give your lifeâs length to listening, and nothing happens.â
â Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk
the universe is growing, and so are you.
I AM ATLAS AND I WILL HOLD UP THE WORLD FOR YOU
youâre supposed to be here to tell me what to do but i am alone and there is a darkness even the sun cannot pierce through
âI would like to be known as an intelligent woman, a courageous woman, a loving woman, a woman who teaches by being.â
â Maya Angelou (via naturaekos)
i know its been said b4 but growing up suicidal and then reaching an age you never planned to live to is extremely stressful and terrifying, and we deserve more credit for not killing ourselves and THEN having to make up for the time we spent not caring if we lived or died and not doing work to improve our lives.
i feel behind in life because i spent the last 7 ish years not giving a shit about my future because i assumed id be dead before id have to deal with that, and now i have to start making decisions that many people started considering years ago.
i just feel like. suicidal people dont get credit for firstly, how stressful life is while suicidal, how difficult it is just to do simple tasks, and secondly, how hard it is to recover from years spent not caring once a person is no longer actively suicidal or no longer having suicidal ideations.
forgiveness does not require reconnection
every morning i wake up & get my coffee & i recite in my head this excerpt from âinvitation,â by mary oliver: âit is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world.â & i just say it over & over again until it sticks to my mind for the rest of the day. it is a serious thing. i am alive. i am so lucky. this fresh morning i get the chance to live again & again & again
â Hey Dad. You sonabitch. Never made one of these while you were still responding because I was so mad at you for leaving. And when you went quiet, it seemed like I should live with that decision, and I have.â INTERSTELLAR (2014)