TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Monterey Bay Aquarium
art blog(derogatory)
NASA
roma★
KIROKAZE
No title available
Xuebing Du
Cosmic Funnies
trying on a metaphor
Kiana Khansmith
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
#extradirty
No title available
Jules of Nature
⁂
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
ellievsbear
almost home
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from France
seen from Spain
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Côte d’Ivoire
seen from Austria
seen from Brazil
seen from Argentina
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
@locusteaten
All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.
Mitch Albom (via onlinecounsellingcollege)
Like a girl
I remember the first time my dad said I "ran like a girl." I didn't get they it was about 5 and didn't get that it was an insult at first, so he said it a few more times to make sure it sank in. My 3-year-old brother and I were just outside running while our dad was outside for some reason. (We were usually outside alone at that time, so I have no idea why my dad was there). He told my my small brother ran better than I did. Then he mocked me mimicking a clumsy run with legs flailing. I was one of the fastest runners in kindergarten and boys wouldn't even race me. Part of me knew he was wrong and part of me was scared. I kept racing hard as much as possible that year and first grade and second grade. In second grade, the 4th-grade boys wouldn't even race me because it was humiliating to always lose, but I still always thought maybe I ran like a girl- a clumsy, stupid, less-than, incapable girl.
Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
Rumi (via onlinecounsellingcollege)
I’m trying to accept that you had the autonomy to make your choice to end it. I’m trying to accept that you chose it over and over. That it was your right to chose it. That it was your right to end it in ways I found sneaky I would have followed you anywhere. I’m trying to accept that you didn’t want that any more.
Well, I called my husband out on Internet stalking me while having no interest in me. And I decided to stop posting on that blog. I've accidentally seen it open always on his phone or laptop. But he has no interest in me. I realized it's been 22 months since he's had any interest in me. I'm so good at seeing the tiny step of process. I don't have to drag truth out of him. I just say he feels manipulative or mean and he comes back with a genuine- feeling apology and an explanation for what he wanted to feel better when he tried to hurt me. I think this might even be normal exept that it's the only way he ever talks to me. E talked to me 4 times this week- including times he initiated- and each time was the same pattern. I told him next time he does that, he's moving out. He has to admit what's hurting him before he starts taking it out on me. He told me earlier that he was hurting me on purpose to try to make me kick him out. I told him to please be honest and make his own decision.
Yeah, I know. I said I'm done with this. I am. Just give me a secant. I used to want to read you the meaningful parts of my books. I remember longing to have you underarms what I felt in those few books where I felt hope when I was all alone. Even when things were good, you never were interested. And you let me know it was boring. And I thought maybe someday you would care. And you never wanted to know what I thought of a movie or what I felt or connected to. I remember telling you how much I longed to tell you what movies made me feel. One day in a counseling session, you were loosing it enough to sound angry. You started talking bitterly about me reading. I held my breath feeling so scared that you would know something intimate about me. Then you accused me of just wanting an escape, and I breathed again. Relieved and disappointed. God, so anticlimactic. I've told you and told you why I read. I'm so desperate for someone to talk about the pain and life and the things no one talks about. I'm desperate to find someone who felt what I felt. I'm desperate for hope that someone found a way back to life. I know you could know you hated me for that, but you wouldn't say it honestly. I am so sad tonight that you still hold out on me. I'm counting the months down until its been two complete years of you being nothing but abusive at worst and anemic at best. I'm feeling stunned that after a couple of weeks of connecting with you, I would wait through 2 years of you abusing me and ignoring me and lying to me. I'm trying to accept that I didn't develop in a normal or healthy way due to my childhood, but this is probably really sick of me. I probably should have just divorced you already. I don't think I can go through with it right now, but I can end this Internet stalking you do.
I'm not really so locust eaten any more. I'm not waiting for a father type or powerful love to restore what was devoured. I can take things back in my own hands. I can enjoy people today. I drug myself out of those years and searched until I found people to bandage me. I open your computer and see this blog open on it, and, I'm yet again surprised that you were reading. I feel no interest in me from you. I feel interested in you and I'm amazed at the capacity of my own soul to heal and move toward forgiveness. And I don't withhold that from you. I'm not stingy with showing myself to you. Then you play your role of being dishonest and mean and manipulative. I'm so good at seeing how you are honest more quickly than you were a year ago, but it isn't enough. I hate that your exclusive way of relating to me is to hurt me to ease your pain. Even if it's better, it's still abusive. In started this blog because I longed for you to want to know something of what I was reading and processing and caring about. Now I find it creepy that you read it. You'll read this invisibly but you won't talk to me. I find writing clarifying and maybe even something I enjoy. I'd like a scrapbook of the quotes I read and love, of the art I find beautiful, but I don't want to leave it lying around the Internet for you to secretly gorge on while you ignore me. It's like you having sex with the ghost of me. So goodbye. I'm proud of how I've loved you. I'm proud of all I've overcome. I'm proud of how strong I've grown. I'm sad you almost never let yourself want to know me.
It always gets me when MRAs bring up the draft as an example of discrimination against men. Yes, it’s true that no woman in America has ever been subject to conscription in times of war; however, being that the most recent draft was in 1973, most likely neither have you. If you get to drag up stuff that happened before you were born, so does everybody else - and I’m pretty sure the ladies are going to win that particular game of misery poker.
There is a kind of fasting which is not bodily, a spiritual self-discipline which affects the soul; this abstinence [is] from evil, and it was as a means to this that our abstinence from food was prescribed. Therefore I say to you: Fast from evil-doing, discipline yourselves from covetousness, abstain from unjust profits, starve the greed of mammon, keep in your houses no snatched or stolen treasure. For what use is it to touch no meat and to wound your brother by evil-doing? What advantage is it to forgo what is your own and to seize unjustly what is the poor’s? What piety is it to drink water and thirst for blood, weaving treachery in the wickedness of your own heart? Judas himself fasted with the eleven, but since he did not curb his love of money, his fasting availed him nothing to salvation…
St. Gregory of Nyssa (via michaelfunderburk)
It's like being stabbed over and over and over. It knocks the breath out of me. I have to remember to breath. I can't see what I'm looking for. I push my mind forward to listen to what my kids say and try to remember how to talk. On this anniversary week, I remember the pain was the same a year ago. My life is eating out a ditch of pain through my brain.
You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom: absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this or die like this without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.
Anaïs Nin
(via ohfairies)
All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.
Miranda July (via thatkindofwoman)
A thousand fire abut bites burning my feet a day after I've killed all the pests. It's like you stinging me when you aren't even here.
"After we finish cleaning up this mess, we will go our separate ways. Our paths will never cross, and we tell this to no one." ~From Breaking Bad episode 2
I had a short dream where someone said, "I think of you as honest." I hope that's true.
The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.
Carl Jung (via psych-facts)
Damn. This has been some kind of reaction.
