la lune n'est pas morte @girlingseason - Tumblr Blog

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self-harm relapse after three years. I don't know why tonight. been constantly on my mind lately but took me by surprise in the moment. I already know this isn't the last time in fact I'm aching to do so much worse. when I moved I promised myself I was done but that promise became meaningless when what was supposed to be a new beginning turned out to be nothing more than a new low. why should I abstain from unhealthy coping mechanisms when my life doesn't allow me to sustain healthy ones no matter how hard I try. when my life is objectively unhealthy, vile, insane. why should I even try to be normal under these circumstances. why am I here at all. I can't stand it I'm losing my fucking mind

I was able to spend most of the day writing at the library and then I walked around a reserve listening to the new Florence album and now I'm sitting here in silence and I started crying because I'm able to appreciate this beauty and I'm not completely numb and I'm not in the depths of despair and I don't actively want to die today and I'm still tired and in pain and it's more than likely I'll go home and be shattered again but for now I'm listening to the birds' chaotic symphony and I'm watching the thousands of winged insects catch the pale golden sunlight and twice now a bird has swooped so close to my head I've felt the gust of its wings, I've jumped and laughed, and I want to be alive, I want to finish writing my novel, I want more of these bearable days, I want to find people to share them with, and I want to bask in this feeling before it abandons me again.

#the bittersweetness of better days #personal #text

hmm. peut-être que je suis morte

#text

April 2024, Cinestill 400

#photography #35mm film #film photography #photographers on tumblr #aesthetic #dark aesthetic #dreamy #cinestill #cinestill 400

every few months I find myself drawn into a spiral of opening old google docs at random, dissociating to an insane degree while I read through this haphazard assortment of not-quite-somethings. that's the only way I can explain it, though I don't know how to explain the grief that comes along with it, staring into this vortex of unmet potential, all these unfinished stories, unpolished poems, all containing glimmers of truth, beauty, profundity - but all refusing metamorphosis, stubbornly clinging to this larval state of existence.

the problem is not that I have nothing to publish or share - though that is a frustration and, I believe, yet another source of alienation for me. the real problem is that I write to express something, and a failure to complete these works is a failure of expression, an abortion of whatever it was I was trying to crystallise within those words. it leaves me feeling utterly trapped inside of myself.

I'm not annoyed at myself, not beating myself up. I know it's not my fault. it's not a lack of motivation or even "talent" (whatever that is) but my situation. what I'm lacking is safety. the space and time and clarity to render those precise final touches. to give each piece the care and attention it deserves. how can I do that when I cannot - am not "allowed" - to even fulfil my own most basic and foundational needs? so I'm not blaming myself. I'm just terribly sad, because I do actually believe in my writing - I can't deny there are times when I genuinely take my own breath away - and I will never stop fighting for it, but it's hard to believe that life will ever let up on me enough that I can really finish something - "fulfil my potential" as it were. just as there are rare days when my health is slightly less terrible and I can hear the beauty in my singing voice, can hear all the years of work I have put into it, but consistency is entirely beyond my control. either my throat is chronic-fatigue-fucked that day or it's not.

but what can I do but keep going, keep trying, keeping honing these skills as best as I can in hopes that one day I will finally be allowed to breathe, and it will all pay off. all these pathetic years will be woven into the great tapestry of an extensive oeuvre, and a wide open life rich with colours I could never have imagined. to indulge in a cliché: both my art and my self will finally emerge from this chrysalis.

I suppose I can't really say I have any faith in this future. but I will do myself the favour of preparing for the possibility of it, whether I believe in it or not.

#truly cant tell the difference anymore between hope and delusion #I've been trembling all day. weak with yearning for a gentler life #text #personal

trying to let go of the idea that nothing is worth posting unless it's an original thought. sometimes it's just expression and it needs to escape into the ether. originality is dead bitch let's get you some fruit.

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I don't want to be seen. I want to be recognised.

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#and oh so very tired #my last post on this blog was about how desperately i needed to write. a few months and 200k later...#I've never written this fast this much or this well before #not a hint of hyperbole when I say this novel(s) has unequivocally saved my life this year #I could talk about it forever. but will get back to writing it instead.#personal

Tout ce que je veux, c’est écrire. La vie est vide, grise. Mais je m'endors en écrivant ceci. Je n’arrive pas à réfléchir. Mais je n’arrive pas à dormir non plus.

#personal #text

Seaford, January 2025

Kodak Gold 200

#photography #35mm film #film photography #photographers on tumblr #my photography #aesthetic #analog photography #analog #dreamy #beach #summer

je dois accepter qu'il n'y a pas une façon d'apprendre une nouvelle langue sans pratiquer; ce qui signifie que je dois écrire, parler - faire des erreurs pour pouvoir être corrigé. je dois avoir l'air stupide pour devenir moins stupide. malheureusement c'est ma plus grande peur - mais je vais encore essayer !!

#text #français #n'hesitez pas à corriger mon français (gentiment!!) xx

tu veux me parler mais ma tête est pleine d'une autre langue

#text