The lost cookie. @the-lost-cookie - Tumblr Blog

An ode to anxiety.

When my messages are just ‘seen’

When my messages are not seen.

Last active 2 hours ago. what where you doing for two hours? are you tired of me, ignoring me, are you sick of me already?

When I have missed calls.

When I am said ‘no’ to, I overthink and twist the many reasons why someone said that.

When I am said ‘yes’ to. I overthink and twist the many reasons why someone said that.

I live with this tightening, coiling, twisting feeling and I sometimes don’t know how to reach in, grab it and weed it out. It’s in too deep.

Going back to pharmaceutical help seems like a good idea. People can’t be relied on a 100%. They need to put themselves first.

I need more perspective and intelligence about my illness(es). Sometimes I can’t do that on my own. How do I know when to ask for help and when not to?

My sense of self and world view confuses, confunds and sometimes freezes me. Do I know who I am? Am I even here? I’m tired. I don’t want to be this controlled by it. I’m really fucking tired.

Reinvention

I must shift, change, metamorph into something I never thought I could be - emotionally and physically healthy.

I must, because if I don’t I’m at a risk of losing everything good in my life. Especially the people in my life.

It won’t be easy. It never is. I must be better for the sake of the people in my life, my academics, my professional life and most importantly, for myself. I have come too far to stop now. I will be better than my past. I will create a better space than where I came from. I will. I can. I must.

Performer(s): « King Oliver » & « The Dixie Syncopators » « Black Snake Blues » Audio : Very Hq - CD Quality Sound -- MP3 320 Kbps Album : « King Oliver & Hi...

Mmm :)

The ‘seen’ feature of messaging platforms really doesn’t help with my fear of rejection.

Saving herself.

She brushed her hair aside from her eyes. She knew it was finally over. The pain. The torture. The feeling of being locked in a room with no light or love. The curse she cast upon herself shattered the shackles of hurt and hate and paved her own path to self-realisation. Her purpose had become clear as crystal to her. She saw the world with a brand new pair of eyes that reflected the bonfire that was her heart, She was not afraid anymore. She could clutch her heart and say to herself with utmost confidence, “I am NOT scared”, and she could actually believe it. She believed in herself, in her abilities, in her talent, in her dreams.

She believed. She finally, finally believed.

tiny-facts

What you see is a myosin protein dragging an endorphin along a filament to the inner part of the brain’s parietal cortex which creates happiness. Happiness. You’re looking at happiness.

theintrovertnation

This is pretty Cool.

the-lost-cookie

Feels like that protein would be whistling its favourite tune :)

1 am blues..

wnq-writers

let me tell you something: no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered and think - damn, you are beautiful. no one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and assemble them into a beautiful whole. hell, you won’t even look at yourself and think - I made broken look beautiful. you know why? because all those writers lied to you. yes, all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and blood dripping down chins, pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like hurricanes. liars. so you and i, we are going to make a plan. you are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror, you are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you but still writes about you. here is what you are going to romanticize instead: you are going to romanticize the first day of spring, its gentle hands all over your body, lifting you up until you are as light as a feather. you are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love, no hurricanes, but sunshine that builds you up from within, that helps you make it through the worst days. you are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend in yours, telling you that it is going to be okay. because it is. and don’t trust poets, we’re no good, we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality - there ain’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls. you know what is beautiful, instead? the days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile, scars and all. music that makes your soul flow like a river, books that offer comfort, families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm, friends that give you strength when you can find none, lovers who make you laugh through tears. baby, from now on you are going to romanticize healing; honey dripping down your fingertips, August nights that stick to your skin, the day you find your purpose, long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now. bad news: no one is coming to save you. good news: you can save yourself.

Lana Rafaela (via wnq-writers)

I feel.

I feel. I don’t know what or how, exactly. But I know that I do. I feel it, but I can’t name it. Is it better when it is nameless, formless? Or would it be easier to address if I knew exactly what it was? I feel this mass, this cloud of thick, clumpy amalgamated emotion in my chest. I don’t know. It’s smudged across my rib cage and sternum. I don’t know. I can feel it caked and lodged between my heartbeats. I still don’t know. Do I want to know? Can I? Is it safe? Am I okay? I don’t know. .

I smile now..

I feel relieved. Like a weight has been temporarily lifted off my chest. I know it’s still looming around somewhere, but the spectacular life of this city has enveloped me. Keeping the mass at bay. For now.

earthstory

island6artscenter

“My Blue Roar” (我蓝色的咆哮)

Can you hear that stretched out noise bopping, dancing, jumping off the hillsides near and far. Can you decipher that throaty code with ears not meant to do it? Can you mimic the sounds, or are you too afraid to try. Can you smell those chemicals mixing, hinting at the glands’ hearty work. Are you reading too much into each crack in the voice, every pitch change and deviation? Are you so busy comparing the attempts that you forgot to give your own up to the shaky hands of fate? Will you add your two cents to the mix in whatever color suits you? Here is mine, it’s blue ,and I would offer it to the onlookers. Let them wallow or walk by but know its mine alone, my big blue roar.

hautebony

‘Masculinity so fragile a woman only needs to breathe to hurt it’ #QandeelBaloch.

https://t.co/v5ULArYF5l

love2angel12

Please reblog if your blog is a safe place for queer women of color.

archangel-witness-protection

No you know what?? I don’t have any sympathy for guys who feel like they can’t like Ghostbusters because the only male characters were portrayed ‘poorly.’ Because I have sat through and even enjoyed plenty of movies where there were no well-written female characters, or female characters that I loved who were treated badly.

I loved Guardians of the Galaxy even though Nebula and Gamora were unnecessarily pitted against each other and used more as devices than characters. I enjoyed Fight Club even though the only woman present was someone I would never identify with and who seemingly had very few redeeming qualities. I watched and liked the new Star Trek even when women were objectified and had their officer’s ranks stripped from their uniforms. I liked the Matrix even though I can only even vaguely recall there being a woman in it and I have no idea what role she played besides preparing the main male character for his Important Destiny. I liked the Sandlot even though it was a movie completely made for and about boys, because I found it funny and entertaining. I play dozens of video games written to be stories about men (The original Bioshock, Assassin’s Creed, Uncharted) and still loved playing them.

I could go on and on. Women watch and support movies that are male-centered all of the time, because they often don’t have a lot of options and because they find other merits to enjoy about the movies. In fact, note that I explicitly said I LIKED all of these movies, despite their failings when it came to representing women. The difference is apparently that women are able to see men as people with their own stories worth listening to and their own independent merit even if they are a different gender. Clearly, there are a lot of men out there who don’t feel the same about women. The fact that men can’t show up and support a movie where women get to shine because they’re not represented the way they want to be is sexist, childish, self-centered, and disappointing. And you know what? They can afford to be that way, because they have a million movies to turn to that are for them, about them, glorifying them. Women don’t.