hi im ren

[dps-mystic-only]

something i think that is also strange is as a teenager i would always feel the same gut wrenching, bottomless pain, but now my physical health is actually starting to deteriorate. its a part of aging i know but maybe i’ll get to the point where i actually start to die. i don’t think i’ll look for solutions when i reach that point.

[dps-mystic-only]

often times ill revisit this blog when i’m feeling low. there’s some kind of strange comfort that i only find in myself suffering in different periods of my life.

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

{ Mahmoud Darwish/ Virginia Woolf/ Edgar Allan Poe, from a Letter to Helen Whitman, "The Last Letters of Edgar Allan Poe to Sarah Helen Whitman"/ Albert Camus, The Possessed (transl. By O'Brien)/ Emily Dickinson/ Anton Chekhov, The Complete Works of Anton Chekhov "The Two Volodyas"/ Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes/ Louisa May Alcott, Little Women/ Yann Martel, Life of Pi/ Cameron Awkward-Rich, Meditations in an Emergency/ De profundis/ Oscar Wilde}

[inkskinned]

it is all love.

sometimes you will see something saying what if it is all worth it or it gets better, doesn't it and in the little heart of you - you feel a darkness.

was it love, the way i was hurt? some things don't have a lesson in them. no silver lining. they were bad things, and they shouldn't have happened. i'm sorry they did. i am sorry they warp the space they hold in you. we tightrope walk around an ever-present grave. we carry that ache for so long it becomes smooth, overworn. i worry that i'll bore my therapist - despite all of my attempts, the pain persists the same, as sharp as it always was.

but it was all love.

every ugly moment after. every bad night. every time you drank too much and cried on the bathroom floor. every time you threw up from anxiety, every time you panicked in the grocery store. everything you ruined, and everything you walked away from.

some small part of you loved you enough. made you get up. made you wash your face and clean your teeth and call home. made you try again, even from the bottom. even when you were so tired of it; of restarting, of having to do-it-all-again. some part of you reached out. some part of you reached up. even there, in the bad spot - you somehow got up.

love will so rarely be big. it will so rarely be a moment like a dawn. love is shy, i think. she keeps her hands in front of her cheeks. she waits to peek out. and if you're not looking, she will look - normal.

but it will all be love. the way you pour yourself a glass of water. the little rabbit outside your window. your friend pushing your hair behind your ear. the way your dog greets you at the door. "put on a seatbelt". "text me when you get home safe". "oh, i started watching that show you love." "have you been okay?" "let's go for a walk" "whatcha doin?" "what should i make for dinner?"

oh, my life is so different these days. i don't have a partner. i call my friends a lot. i keep falling in love with the little tender moments; the glittering ones. you know, the bird in a puddle and the shush of a newly-lit candle. the movie-moments.

i am also learning to love the ugly. every moment i spent belly-flat to the floor, anxious and panting. every hour i stared at nothing, losing time to my adhd. every missed opportunity and bad memory. i am not doing well. i am spiralling.

but somewhere in there, while i am reduced to ashes. some part of me is an ever-burning ember. her little thankless job, her shy and croaking voice. she holds me to my body. she doesn't let me go. stay, she whispers. out of love. my love. wherever it goes.

some of the bad things that happened to me will always be bad. they did not make me a better person. they made me worse. i only learned what i can endure. and i did endure it. and love wasn't just the perfumed moments. love was just ... staying. while it's ugly and hard and horrible. love was just saying:

okay. i will keep trying. keep going. i owe it to the version of myself who brought me here. i owe it to my future. i owe it to the small loves i have found since - the music and the new recipes and the new books and the new hobbies. i owe it to myself to wait for the next best thing. this wall we have hit - love says keep walking. maybe one day we will find a door.

always, always: just one try more.

[inkskinned]

out of everything, what gave you away was how you said i'm trying. two small words. such bitter, hopeless agony.

[inkskinned]

there is something so frustrating about it, because it's cliche, but. you really do feel like there's just a hole in you. something missing. like life just whistles right through, never quite touching any heart in you.

are you happy? sure. you're probably happy, smile about it. it's just... happy like smeared icing; happy like leftovers. you are happy around the hole, never happy full-up.

are you sad? that's the good news - if you are sad, it's nowhere you can feel it. life just washes over your ribs and you wake up crying without reason. when you touch your wet cheeks, you feel kind of silly about it, the drama you've met. you say - huh. this is weird. i'm honestly not even really upset.

like life happening to a puppet. like remembering agony in a dream. oh, you should probably be worried. it's not good to not feel anything. you know that logically.

but you're so very numb - you watch the little alarm rise in your chest, a warning. you find yourself laughing. uh oh. you say. i think something is burning.

[inkskinned]

i don't want to talk about the violence i don't want to talk about the shape of the bruise i don't want to talk about how it sounded or what it felt like or how afterward, for hours, i had three sharp words banging around in my head in a cartwheeling spike - i just want to say it was something that hurt and to hear back i'm sorry it hurt you, do you need help feeling better? i just want to lie down without being asked to lie open and show where the hurt came from and to give birth again to the shadow memory, watch it ooze again across the floor to dance in the wake of my feet.

i do not want to argue with strangers on the internet who have no stake in the matter, telling me that kind of violence is often overstated. i do not want to argue. i do not want to keep getting older with this painted under my chubby bicep and splashed down my side. i do not want to hear i am playing the victim when i am the victim. i do not want to be a survivor, i just want a life in a green patch without having to endlessly sublimate the glass i have chewed, over and over, pouring sand out of my mouth into the wrong hands - i just want to be happy on sunday.

i do not want to talk about the violence and why the bell of my body is always hollow! i know it is hollow. please stop asking about it. i have spent so many hours trying to explain how it fell apart. i need to rest now. i need to take my meds now. i need to wake up and be someone who can have the quiet back without flinching in response. i know you don't believe it happened that way, why would you? you are someone looking for the clever ending; where you somehow win my narrative by showing me i am not allowed to be hurt by what happened. and i am just a person. i have already lost everything.

[inkskinned]

i had to cut a knot out of my cat’s fur. for the first time in his life, in the ten years i have known him, he put his teeth on my hand, gently, a warning, telling me i was hurting him but unwilling to let that message sink in. 

i wonder how many people i have hurt worse than my cat hurt me. how many hands were trying to help me that i turned and devoured. i was so angry, so often, bristling with so many tangles that no knife could slit open. people who loved me tried everything and i snarled at them. how hurt i was when they were angry i was acting out of order. i would find out later their anger at my behavior was just because they were scared to death i was going to explode and they’d lose me and it came out looking angry.

i wish i could be like my cat. to warn that i was in pain, gently. to only lash out with the littlest of teeth. to know that sometimes what looks like an attack is actually a sign of love. but i only know claws, and using the fullest force of my venom to hurt others when they never meant to hurt me. i know logically sometimes there’s pain to pull the glass out. but i can’t stop myself from reacting.

[focailmarbh]

you hold a sharp thing once and your whole head goes

stab yourself s͏̛͢͝t̷̸͟a̕͡͏̛b̛́͢ ̷͟͝͞͝t̶͠҉ḩ̵é҉̶̷m̷͏̷̛̕ ̶́͏͏s̸̡̛͝͞t̢́͡҉a͢͟b͜͠͠ ̛͢͞y͠҉͜o͠u̵͜r҉͠s̴͏̧̨͠ȩ͞͡l̶̡̛̕͏f͢͟ ̸̕͝s̡̡t̛̕̕a̵҉̶҉b̕͡ ̡́̕͞t̴̛̕͟͞h̢͝èm̸͟͞ ̵̵͢ś̨͘͘t͟͟a̶̧̢b̵͏̴̴ ̸y͢͜o̷͢u̶͝r͏̵̀̀͝s̶̷e̶̷̸̕͢ļ̷̸͝͡f͘͘͢͟͠ ̢̢͟͞s̵̢̕t̴̢͠a̵̸͜͟͝b̷̨̕͢͟ ̡͠͞t̡͜h͢͡ȩ̶͟m҉̡ ̨̨ ̸̨͢s̸̨̧͜t̨̢͡҉̧à̸̡b̨͞ ̕͢y̸͏͠o̢͘ù̧͢͜r̴̶͢s̸̴͟͡͏e̸̷̷̕ļ̀͢͢͞f̢̛̕͜ ̢̀͘͟s̴̴͟͠t̡̕a͢͞b͏̡̛ ̵̀͟͞t͏̶h̷̛͢è̕͢͝m̴̶͜͡ ͝͞s̀͡͞t҉̶̨̛͘ą̸̵͘͡b͏̷̨̨͠ ̸̛҉͘͡ỳ͘͡͡o̷͢u̢̢r͟s̸̸̛͜e͡҉̴̡͠l҉̸́͢͠f̢͡ ̴͝s̀̕t̷̡̀́͟a͞҉̧b͞͏ ̸̧̀͢͝t̷̨̀͘͡h͏̛̀͜͏ę͠m̵̢̛͜͜ ̸̀͟͟͟s҉t̨a̶̕͜b̸̶ ͜͞y͠o̢͜u̡͟r̕͢͢͏͞s͞҉̡͝҉ȩ̶͠͝l͏f̸̴̷̢̡ ̴̧͟͟͟s̵̶̨͞͡t́͢͜͠a̸̶̸̕b̸͘͢ ͏̷̛̀̀t̴̶̀͏̷ḩ̵̸e̴͏m͟͏̢ ̵҉̨̀s̴͏̶̴t͏́̕ą̀b́ ̸̵y̡͜͢o̶͏̢͘ù̡͘͝r͟s̴̨̡͢͝e͝҉̕͜͞l̡͡͝f̕͜͢͞ ͟s̸̢͜҉t̡͞҉̛̀a̶͝b̷̀͘ ̸̸͜͜͞t̷͢͞h̵̨͢͝͞e̵̡̡͢ḿ ͝҉s̴t̛́a͏͟҉b̢̢̛̀ ̨͘ỳ̛o̶̷u̧͞҉r̶͘͟s̶̡̀̕e̵̡͟͜l̕͞͡f̴̷ ̸̶̢͢͞s̶͠ţ̀à̴̧̨b̴̨͝ ̴҉͢͜t̷̢̢͟͝h̵̵̕e̷̛͜ḿ̧͢ ̶̡͏͡s̶͟͝ţ͟͝à̧͏͏b̕͝ ̷̡͢͟͟ỳ̧o̵̸͠u͘͢͟r̕͏̛͘s̨͘͢͡é͠l̵͞f̷͢͠ ̴̶s̡̛͘̕͠t̴́͜͞ą̴̸̕͏b̴̶͟ ̧̕t̵̨̢͢҉h̴̀͜͝e̸̡̨̛͡m͏̨̧͘͟ ̴̡́͢҉ş̀̕̕T̸̶̕A͢҉͢B͘͡ ̨͡͝͡Y̢͟͡O̵͜͡U̷̷̷̸͡Ŕ̸̢͞͠S̸̶E̴̢L̛͟͏F̶̨͜͢҉ ͢͝S̵̀͡T̕A̕B̡̢́͘ ́͢͠҉T̵̵̛͞H̢È̸͟͟M͘͏ ̨̛҉Ş̴͢͟͢T̡̕͟Ą̴͜͝B̡́̕͜ ̴̵̨̧Y̸͘͡O̸͘U̴̴R̴͠Ś̵̸͜E͠҉̶̢L̶͏̸̛͞F̵ ̷̶͘͘͞S͘͢T̡́́͢͟A̶̷̸͟͢B̨̢̢͢ ̡̧̕͟Y̸̨̨O̢͝U͘͝R̶̢̧Ś̸̕͘͡È̡́͢L̵̡͝͞͝F̴́͟ ҉͢Ş̷̸̡̕T̸́͘͝ ̸͢ ̨҉A̵̛͘ ̛͝B͏̧̨͞Y̸̧͢҉O̷͠U̷͢͝͠R̷̡͘͟͡ ̸͘͜S̸̸̛̀͡E͝͏̡̛F̧̢͟͞ ͟҉L̶̶͡D̡͠ ̛͘

[praying]

[schuylerpeck]

the poem: two toothbrushes by the sink. this wordless love letter. I’m coming back. there’s a piece of me here. this is where I want my days and nights to take place, right beside yours.

[weltenwellen]

Maggie Nelson, Bluets

[inkskinned]

It is so strangely empty to give up on somebody. You've done the fighting and the screaming, the whispered practiced speeches you said in the mirror and the crying in public places. the attempts at logic, the subtle sideways begging. And you sit in your cooling car or in the library or on the train and you realize - that was actually it, wasn't it. It's not worth it anymore. The remains of your relationship have been ashes for so long now - why are you still trying to call the fire department. Why are you doing this. You never walk out without shaking, and they always walk out having said the last word and struck the last blow.

And you think: when did it happen? When did I grow up more than you did? When did you stop trying to be a better person? Why wasn't I good enough to keep in your life? Were you ever listening? Did you ever care what was going on with me? Was I just around because then you'd have somebody on your side? Why are you like this? Why? Why? Why?

I wanted cutting it off to be cathartic. It was instead kicking a winter beehive. Nothing but a cold sting inside.

[siickangel]

do you ever type a message to someone but halfway through it you think “why am i sending this, they don’t even care” and just delete the whole thing

[mikesvent]

[cornygirlfriend]

“you lurk bc u care” no bitch it’s bc im nosey

[carnation-damnation]