If you were me, you'd do the same

"Those who are hardest to love, are the ones who need it the most"

[starlightacademia]

one day you think: I want to die. and then you think, very quietly: actually. actually. I think I want a coffee. a nap. a sandwich. a book. and I want to die turns day by day into want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friend, I want to sit in the sun, I want a cleaner kitchen, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else. I want to live.

- via duckbunny

[soracities]

Our hands contain our humanness. Sometimes they give us away. They clasp a chair while we pretend not to be scared. They sweat from the palms while we beg our foreheads to stay dry. They also hold. They pray. They dance along the keys of a piano. They tickle. They dust themselves in flour. They shape bread. They scratch the back of a lover. We hide so much in this life, but I don’t know if it is possible to hide the way a hand can open and close itself out of care or loss or love.

Devin Kelly, from Ordinary Plots: "J. Estanislao Lopez's 'What the Fingers Do'"

[chronicallyonlinesworld]

[everybody-wants-me-dead]

[inkskinned]

my therapist asks me to be the voice of my anxiety, just for a moment. if your anxiety was to speak, what would it say?

i think if she had a voice it would be a sweet violet, almost grey. i think her fog hands would come up over my mouth and eyes. i think she would say:

i love you, be safe. i love you, tighten the seatbelt. i love you, don't leave the door unlocked. i love you, i love you. you shouldn't talk to those people, they'll hurt you. i know you did the reading, but don't speak up in class - what if you're wrong? i'm protecting you from that. it hurts when people reject you, stop making plans with friends. oh, don't eat, my love, stay hungry, it keeps you fresh. oh, i love you, get out of bed and check the lock again, you know you're always forgetting things. oh, i love you, stay awake an hour more, this life is so blisteringly, terribly short.

i think if my anxiety had a body outside of me, she'd always have her arms crossed. her nails would be bitten back. her cheeks would be hollow. i think she'd watch the slow silent way depression french-kisses me into cooperating, and i think she'd laugh awkwardly. i think she wants to hold hands with me and never does.

my therapist says: you think anxiety is love?

and i say - no, i'm not being clear. i'm saying it's cold there. i'm saying in every version of herself, my anxiety has teeth.

[wehurt-weburn-webloom]

She is 5 years old

tucked into the tightest corner of her bedroom

curled into a ball

tears and snot and drool dripping straight into the carpet

she was never taught how to handle these big feelings

She is 30 years old

tucked into the tightest corner of her bedroom

curled into a ball

tears and snot and drool dripping straight into the carpet

she was never taught how to handle these big feelings

[halfdeadhands]

im sorry

for being too much today and

im sorry, in advance,

for being too much tomorrow

[futureless]

i be in my own head fighting for my life

[bpd-bbyg]

I’ll miss them all forever and there is nothing to do about it.

[heavensghost]

[hubrisbasement]

they’re minor inconveniences to you, to me they’re world-ending tragedies

[inkskinned]

i just get stuck. halfway between things, invisible rules come between my fingers. i have 2 important things to do today; i am doing neither. i am frozen. i want to get up to do one or at least do something, but there's a rule i'm not following, because i don't know it yet. i'm just not allowed to get up. i don't like being here. i feel scattered, raw. it's like living inside a sunburn. every move is the wrong one.

how can you explain that to someone. i am a person with so many strengths and so much love. but i can't get up yet. i don't know why. i just .... get stuck.

[remanence-of-love]

[remanence-of-love]

[inkskinned]

Okay. Come on, then. I love you, get up, we are going to keep going. Repeat this to yourself in a mirror or in a whisper or in the shower or in a shout. I love you, get up, keep going.

I am tired too. It's okay. We will sleep in the car ride over. We will sleep on each other's shoulders. We will sleep upside down and in the laps of new friends and on the bellies of our lovers and in the hands of better tomorrows. We will sleep and we will wake up rested and we will wake up happy and we will wake up home again.

I love you, get up. It's time to write "maybe next time" on our gravesite. It's time to write: it could not kill me, I would not die. It's time to write a love letter to the sun and our one-act play and the history of our keychains. It is time to write a future where despite everything, we are finally warm and safe.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Get up. Keep going. We are going to be okay.

[amargedom]

“I’ve always liked quiet people: You never know if they’re dancing in a daydream or if they’re carrying the weight of the world.”

—

[naturaekos]