I am. I am. I am.

If Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger had a love child it would be me.  Survivor. Sunflowers. Workaholic. Introvert. Queer. Bibliophile. Harry Potter. PTSD/Anxiety/Depression/EDNOS. Social Justice. Take care. <3

[ampervadasz]

[skypig357]

Get your ass on the dance floor

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

@elytra 👯

[enchanting-autumn]

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

I’ve been thinking a lot about you this weekend, for obvious reasons. I’ve been spending much of my time in the past lately–thinking of all the different paths I could have taken, all the lives I could have lived. The guilt I feel in choices made is unbearable at times.

I try not to feel guilt over my 16 year old self not being brave enough to choose you during those frenzied, overwhelming fall months. 

Or my 18 year old self turning you down the night before we left for college, sitting in your car catching up on the years we had missed. I should have told you what was happening then, and why I said no.

Or my 20 year old self who finally allowed you in, let you see the damage, and your pain and disbelief in what I had become pushed me towards healing. 

Or my 21 year old self who left for another country and thought little of you in my experience until that day, that day that you died. 

I try not to feel guilt that I couldn’t get the money together to fly home for your funeral. That I wasn’t able to visit your home–burning the memories of our time throughout the years together into my brain. 

I try not to feel guilty that I made a deal in my head, a deal that if I reached x weight, you would no longer be dead. When I reached it you were still dead. I had failed you.

I try not to feel guilt that I moved on with my life. That the year after your death–riddled with nightmares and restriction and blades and tears and self-destruction–I began forgetting what your voice sounded like, the color of your eyes, the way you walked. And slowly, I’ve let go of the future I envisioned from the age of 16. Reality may have had to rip it from me piece by piece, but I’ve learned that you aren’t coming back. I don’t have to make the decision to live, or to join you. I can live and honor you, and remember us, even as I build a life with someone else. Even as I’ve given myself completely to another. 

I think you would be proud of me now. I’ve certainly come a long way from where I was the last time we were together. And I’ve climbed back up the deep, dark hole I fell into when you died. Mostly. I’ve spent years changing lives, and finding my place. I’m not there yet, but I’m close. You would be proud of me, for the paths I’ve chosen since your death that have brought me here.

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

Feeling this today (and many days). 6 years, and the pain is still unbearable and overwhelming.

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

Some things are hard to say out loud. Some things are hard to say out loud because of fear or guilt. Some things are hard to say out loud when it means they've creeped back up on you while you should have been paying attention. Like I'm 27 and still mourning my 3 year old self, 7 year old self, 13 year old self, 17, 18 year old self, 21 year old self. Like how the weight of my self-hatred is bending my back permanently and I don't think I'll ever walk tall again. Like how for the first time in 4 and a half years I'm dreaming of the relief that a razor blade can bring. Like how I wish I had continued to waste away, my ribs and hip bones cutting through my skin instead of taking the life-saving medication that forced the pounds to come for all the years I put that pill down my throat. Like how I move through the motions of life day after day after day after day and I'm tired.

[delta-breezes]

@shadowontherun

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

So...  I have a Life Update that I can’t post on social media accounts quite yet, but have to share somewhere because feels. In 3 months (only 3 months!) I will be packing up my life in Brooklyn and moving on. I start a new job (not in a school! but still in education!) in Idaho in late July. I’m going back to the PNW! I’m going to have a job that I think will align better with my personality and needs and strengths. I’m going to be a longish drive but short, fairly cheap flight away from my family and my Beloved and going to be surrounded by trees and mountains and lakes and not a concrete, smelly nightmare and friends i am SO EXCITED. 

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

Will I ever get over the feeling of being spoiled and damaged?

[tasiams-deactivated20200630]

Luna and Ginny

[nutellamolotov]

When your friend starts getting into a series you already know

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

@missizzybeth

[masha-russia]

[ladywonderlands]

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow.

[raphmike]

[mattymurdox]

Harry Potter + Aesthetics  →  Christmas 

“Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.”

[thatqueergirlandhersunflowers]

The world is burning and my life is in flames and it would be okay if I just quietly dissolved right

[emolumentsclause-deactivated201]

‘Twas the night before Votemas, we’d counted the days Not a creature was content, not even Chris Hayes The ballots were stacked at the polls with such care In anticipation of voters who soon would be there Americans nestled, anxious in their beds While Fascist Hamburglar shouted on loop in their heads While I in my jammies, caught up on the news Had just settled down for an election night snooze When out in the hall, there arose such a ruckus I sprang from my bed and yelled “What the fuckus?!” Away to the peephole I flew like a dolt Then opened the door and threw off the deadbolt The streetlights that shone outside my building’s lobby Threw a surreal dullness on the sight that caught me When what, to my wandering eyes should appear But a strange motorcade, and eight volunteers! With a woman among them, eyes lively and glinting I knew in a moment; it was Hillary Clinton. More rapid than eagles, her staffers, they came And she smiled, applauded, and called them by name. “On, Huma! On, Robby! On, Joel and Cheryl! On, Amanda! Podesta! Philippe, Jake, and Jim! To the top of the polls! Ride the rise, and the fall! Then dash away! 270! Winner take all!” She ran to the chopper, to her team gave a whistle And away they all flew, like a targeted missile But I heard her exclaim, as they rode with a whir “Don’t fuck this up, America, just say #ImWithHer!”

I’m sorry. I can’t sleep. Please vote.

[thelovejournals]

Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.

E.E Cummings (via mesogeios)

[cozyweather-love]

[ancestorsofthenorse]

This beautiful Swedish lady sings an ancient Viking song. Now watch how the cows respond. 

It is often argued that everything our ancestors did and said gets stored into our brains. Their experience and knowledge gets passed down from generation to generation. This may explain why we know or react to certain things without having any prior knowledge.

Kulning is an ancient herding call used in the Scandinavian region. The call is a high pitch tone that can reach long distances. The herding call sounds more like a haunting and sad melody meant to echo through mountains and alleys.

It was getting late and foggy on a magical night last month when Swedish artist Jonna Jinton wanted to try kulning. She wanted to find out if the animals would answer to the call their own ancestors heard when the women called them. Kulning might just be one of the most beautiful and enchanting sounds ever made.

[mikerugnetta]

TRUMP: I have the best temperament. Obviously.   CLINTON: Obviously. Yes. Obviously. You have interrupted me 70 times to say nonsense remarks that indicate you have not the faintest idea what you are talking about. Seventy times. I have spent my life doing this. You decided, like, last year that you were mildly interested in it and that you would probably be great at it. I wish I had that confidence. I wish any little girl did.   If I had coughed even once on this stage, I would have lost this debate instantly. And so you know what? I did not cough. Not even once. You sniffed and you lectured and you made faces and you sighed. And I stood there. Impassive. Like a screensaver. I focus-grouped my number of blinks.   But maybe it worked. Maybe, just this once, America saw a man yammer on for an hour and a half about a subject he knew nothing about to a woman who had spent her lifetime in that field, and America said, “Oh,” quietly, to itself. Maybe. But knowing America, maybe also not.

Last night’s debate, or the mansplaining Olympics - The Washington Post (via mikerugnetta)