Sick Stuff @septem8ercruelty - Tumblr Blog

violentwavesofemotion-deactivat

I have created the isolation in which I find myself.

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary; 1939-1947 (via bergmen)

cinemagorgeous

Beautiful tribute to The Witcher 3 by artist Feihong Chen.

movieposters

American Psycho (2000), Mary Harron

ampervadasz

goblinization

TECH

dailybnha

sangatsunolion-deactivated20171

callmemothra

margotsrobbie-deactivated202402

I thought being famous was going to be fun. I, Tonya (2017) dir. Craig Gillespie

khake-deactivated20200615

weloveshortvideos

breadandflowers

Why would you put raw chicken into a soup and have it cook in the broth and spread its disgusting pathogens and shit. That’s a chunk of a raw dead animal just floating in your soup 😷

railroadsoftware

that’s how…. cooking works

shin-hero-buster

Vegans having 0 understanding of food aside, that looks super fucking good.

izzysfood

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izzysfood

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dearestsoul

Just how thick is your skin? just how sharp are you teeth?

wakingdeadheartalive

“In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why you no longer need to feel it.” - Mitch Albom

Sometimes I find myself blindsided by a memory or thought or feeling from the past that leaves a bad taste in my mouth…like some kind of red-hot, ashy eruption spewing from my core and burning me from the inside out. I admit, I hold on to hurt for an impressive - or depressing - span of time. Taking the winding, overgrown, least-travelled road to recovery seems to be the way I usually go. Holding on to hurt isn’t simply my preference…I hold on to what I think I am justified to feel. I’m holding on because I “own” my pain and I “owe” its expression in the way it so decides to manifest in my life. Or so I believed. Pain is that familiar experience that lends itself to me at a moment’s notice. I never have to ask Pain to show up, because it’s always sitting on the sidelines anticipating the moment I’m most likely to confide in its predictability. I always feel safer when I know what to expect, and Pain has got to be the most consistent by-product of being human. So strange is the safety I find in the stinging blow of Pain painting my thin, alabaster skin in purple and grey shades all over again. It’s never failed me yet.

While I think it’s largely false, there might be a sliver of truth in the saying that “Time heals all wounds”-because I’m not so angry now. I’m not blinded completely by the intensity of my pain, and I’m finally truly finding joy that I haven’t felt in so long. But at times I feel myself momentarily pulled back into the fog of hopelessness I felt at being so exceptionally misunderstood and helpless to explain, and pointlessly debating with the figments in my head of past interactions with people who I’m sure barely remember I exist on a daily basis.

And that’s what sparked my search for an objective point of view, to revisit my pain with what I hope are a fresher set of eyes, to find some sense in what felt like a senseless series of actions/words/reactions/moments that I can’t correct no matter how badly I want to forget. Because I’m terrible at justifying my pain, but even worse at letting it go.