#6.4.15

[loudmouthclub]

old museum pics make for the worst nostalgia

[nightkidsposts]

It wasn't the first time my lips met the lips of another person. But it was my first kiss.

[thehushedpoet]

6/4/15 - 11:29pm

Slumber       befalls    one   riddled                  with           exhaustion — Time goes by in   said cycles,        with   morning                       dawning,              yawning. Upon an awakening,   reality is realized: 
        you   are no               longer by                         my side.

- T.L. // awakening

[viewfromthebikeseat]

6/4/15 Bike Ride

Route:  Badger State Trail, there and back again Bike:  Freedom Total Distance:  16.8 miles Total Time:  58 min Average Speed:  17.4 mph Typically, my average speed is between 15.5-16.5 mph depending on the distance and difficulty.  But I can ride pretty fast when I need to burn off a lot of angst...  PROOF:

Well, 17.4 mph for nearly 17 miles is pretty fast for me anyway, especially when I just rode 25 miles yesterday. Not sure my legs are gonna work right tomorrow. WORTH IT.

[aluina]

Ignore this I'm just venting

I don’t know if nostalgia can be a state of living, but if it is that’s where I am. I know I’m very self aware, and I guess it’s done me well, but I wasn’t always this way. I learned my sadness inside and out, along with every other emotion along the lines of despair, grief, anger, emptiness, guilt, and so on. I know how to find the causes of my sadness and destructive decision making. I know what situations are going to make me want to purge, what situations make me want to cut, starve, pop a pill, etc. Yes, I’m a lot better than I once was. A lot better. But this nostalgia is a different type of pain, one that’s buried itself so deep within my chest it digs the hole deeper without me knowing. It gets worse in the winter. Everything gets worse in the winter, and I know that goes for a lot of people. But all of sophomore year, this nostalgic living, it’s been what tears me down but also what keeps me going. As each part of the year passed I compared it to the same time last year. And I guess that’s why this winter was so confusing for me. Because at that time last year I was in treatment having people monitor my every move, controlling absolutely everything. What went in my mouth, making sure I don’t move too much, monitoring everything I’d put in my fucking hand. By the time I got out I honestly felt I’d lost my identity. I didn’t know who I was, and I couldn’t remember who I used to be either. Tutors, half day schedules for months, my mom making my every meal. I felt like a four year old. I wasn’t able to function like everyone else. I felt I made more progress with my recovery before treatment than I did in it. I thought it backtracked me. But then I remembered why I had to go. I had tried to die. I remember one time after treatment my dad walked into the living room while I was there eating some fruit. But simply because he saw me, I spent the next hour crying and screaming, back to back panic attacks attempting to run to every bathroom of my house to purge while he would chase after and restrain me. He didn’t understand what was wrong with me. He still doesn’t. I remember times I was unable to scream, simply because I was so starved I had lost the strength needed to scream. To scream. I’d hit a point letting out my pain was physically impossible, where my scream couldn’t pass the same level of loudness as speaking to someone in front of me. I could stain a whole bathtub with blood, look over at the toilet I had filled with the mix of stomach acid and blood. And I was okay with it. Everything was comfortable. This was who I was now. And the thought of leaving that was so far from an option I refused to think about it. Many of my stories will stay untold. And that’s okay. Much has changed from then. Tomorrow is the two year of when I cut for the very first time. I cut yesterday. And tomorrow I probably will too. Why? Because I feel I have to. I cut on my one year, therefore I have to this year. Makes no sense right? “Why do you have to?” Because I’m still struggling with letting my sadness go. How do you say goodbye to the only comfortable feeling you knew, the only home you knew, what made you feel like you knew yourself, as dead as that person may be? So much is changing. I know happiness now. I feel it often. Really often. But I don’t like it. At least sometimes I don’t. Because it’s a world I’m not used to. But in case you were wondering what my current goal is, I guess that’s it. To learn how to be comfortable with the fact that I’m happy. I’ve been working hard on it, and it’s been becoming easier. I’m proud of my progress, I’m excited for the new things coming my way. I’m excited for summer, to finally feel free, even if it’s only temporary. I think this will be my final step, to get away. I don’t care about these people, very few matter to me. I’m ready to feel alive again.

Nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed. Keep moving, mer. Don’t look back for anyone.