saw u in a dream and wanted to stay with u forever and ever so i didn’t wake up until noon the next day
Sade Olutola
Peter Solarz

titsay

JVL
Cosmic Funnies
$LAYYYTER

#extradirty
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
noise dept.

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
hello vonnie

Kiana Khansmith
Misplaced Lens Cap

tannertan36

shark vs the universe
styofa doing anything

Love Begins
Monterey Bay Aquarium
tumblr dot com
One Nice Bug Per Day

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@peachverra
saw u in a dream and wanted to stay with u forever and ever so i didn’t wake up until noon the next day
grwm to forgive myself
maybe life is all about waking up every day and trying to learn how to appreciate the beauty of the world without allowing the ugliness of everything that has happened to me in the past to interfere with it
ur twenties is just reciting "life is tough but i am tougher" 500 times a day. sometimes thru tears
every cell in my body greets grief in the morning and yet i keep getting up to live more
Every single time something has fallen apart in my life, I’ve looked back with gratitude eventually.
I might spend a whole year crying and sleeping and working a part-time job and that’s okay if it’s what I need.
Your body will force you to take a break if you don’t listen to it asking for one. I saw this coming 2 years ago and ignored it. Now I’m 2 years older and realize I just prolonged it.
It’s okay. Really.
Realizing you can never get your time back literally reframes everything. You can waste your time in a relationship that’s doomed to fail / scared to make moves for that one opportunity / obsessing over a crush you don’t have the guts to approach / waiting for someone who might never be what you want them to be, but by the time it’s all said and done there genuinely is nothing that could be done to rewind the clock. Nothing. It’s just done
This is why I find the notion that “hearts can’t mend themselves” incredibly overrated. They literally can & we should just say it. You can recover from rejection. You can move on from being told no. What’s hard to come back from is spending months (if not years) obsessing over a person, if not the idea of them crafted in your head. There’s no honor that comes w spending your time waiting on a person btw. No medal or accolades to show for it at the end of your life. There’s just the end of your life. You can come back from heartbreak, but you can never come back from wasted time
Oh to be sleepy and crawl into bed with someone who's warm and safe and you know will take care of you in all the right ways
you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.
for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?
where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.
but i want a yellow kitchen and a standup mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.
of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.
i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.
i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?
am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.
his sadboy eyes and lack of wanting to save himself has bewitched me body and soul
i finally finished writing that thrushpelt fic if you wanna have a read
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i love my therapist but i hate being in therapy. 10 minutes before my appointment, i'm in a meeting with my boss - we discuss my artistic choices; my boss recommends i artistically choose less. 10 minutes after therapy, i wash my hair and think about everything that was said, and then i have to switch it off, like a lamp, and go back to work again.
i was on a walk the other day and someone had the perfect combination of his cologne and whatever-else. it was almost exactly his scent. i fucking hate that. after all these years, i remember that? i tell my therapist - i feel like a fucking wolf. try telling a middle-aged blonde lady. oh i scented him on the air. i'm 30, and i'm having a panic attack over something that would be a plotline in the omegaverse.
what they don't tell you about mental illness is that if you are lucky enough to survive it into adulthood; it becomes a weird slice of your life. because you do, eventually, have to build a life. i realized in a panic somewhere around 22 - oh. i don't know what i'm fucking doing, because i always assumed i'd just go ahead and die. i didn't die, and i'm grateful for that, and i'm very happy about that choice. but it does mean that i am an adult in an apartment, living with my conditions side-by-side like. oh, that's my roommate, adhd. ignore the glass, bytheway, that's ocd.
so you pick your stupid life up by the scruff of the neck and you're, like glad for it (so much laughter and light and friends you would have never thought possible, when you were in the worst of it). but it feels so strange to be dancing around these odd little microcosms, these patchwork moments of your symptoms. if you have a panic attack at night, you still need to wake up and walk the dog in the morning. if your depression is making everything boring, well, you don't have any sick days left, and a job's not really supposed to be that exciting anyway. your ocd tears out each individual leg hair, and then, an hour later, you sigh, patch up the bloody bits, and go get dinner with friends. and the life is kitten-quiet, mewling and pathetic, but it's also like - it's yours, so you're fond of it.
and it's like - you're real. so you still enjoy pushing the shopping cart really fast and then riding on the back of it down an empty aisle. and you're not, like, so sick anymore that when you accidentally drop a mug you burst into tears (except for the days you do that. which are bad). and no, you're not allowed around certain items anymore. oops! but you've learned to be good about brushing your teeth most days of the week. and you sometimes in the middle of the day you have a little freak-out about how fucking unfair it all is, how fucking hard, how other people can just do this without having to fucking hurt the whole time. and then you sigh and force yourself to sit down and fucking journal about it so you can tell the nice middle-aged blonde woman yeah i had a hard day but i practiced grounding. you still sometimes want to burst out of your own skin, but you force yourself to eat kind-of healthy and to take your vitamins. you let yourself chop off all your hair in the sink in a dramatic poetry of control and relief - and you also have developed good hobbies that help you move your body more frequently. you feel helplessly behind, lost in the shuffle - but you also practice gratitude, taking stock of what you have garnered. because you're trying. even if you're never gonna be normal, you have something... close enough.
and the little kitten of your life, this mangy, starlit tigercub, this thing you expected to rot so young: in your arms, it turns itself over, belly-up. exposing this new soft part, all the organs and guts. like it's saying i trust you now. you won't give me up.
I wake up. I consume media. I wish my life was different. I make no effort to change it. I consume more media. I go to sleep.
one thing i can’t get over in breaking bad is that so much of the cast hate jesse for just existing it is so funny. jesse will be like yo what’s up and before he can even finish someone will beat the fuck out of him within an inch of his life and jesse just sighs and goes on with this life like it’s another tuesday
Okay Walter White was actually pretty funny as a character bc he was so toxic that seasoned drug lords were like I cannot work w this man I have to put my mental health first
“i waited. god, i waited with bated breath for your face at my door. i imagined it night after night. you would knock, and then you’d say, ‘i love you. i’m sorry i’ve been gone so long.’ and i’d forgive you, just like always. except this time you didn’t come back. you just left me here to wait.”
— j.e.b. ((i’ll always be here, waiting.))
the hardest part isn't even the being alone - it is that i know i have all this love fossilizing in me, a pearl. a plum stone. it's that i want to find someone to fissure it out into; my palm an open cup.
i know one must love oneself first. i know friendships are real love. i know i know i know. but i also - so timidly - i keep picturing my life as being with someone. to hand them my heart and have them say ah, this is the kind of thing i was dreaming of.