Me
lets talk about splitting over and over again until you can physically feel that crack in your very being lets talk about getting so attached that even the slightest thought of them not being there is enough to send you into fits of hysteria lets talk about going against all your morals just to get approval lets talk about scrutinizing a conversation for days trying to pinpoint just where it all fell to peices lets talk about the dread you feel when you think that you will end up alone lets talk about the euphoria of being texted first lets talk about the days when it is a struggle to convince yourself that you fucking exist lets talk about loneliness you can feel in your bones lets talk about sobbing until your throat becomes raw and your eyes sting lets talk about going to outrageous lengths to attract even a moment of attention lets talk about desperately wanting to feel something besides anger, jealousy, fear, sadness, anything lets talk about the feeling that nothing will ever work lets talk about recognizing that awful pattern of behavior every time and realize you cannot stop it lets talk about being unsure if you can continue living like this lets talk about the feeling in your chest as you wait desperately for a response you dont know will ever come lets talk about the severe, ugly symptoms of bpd.
reblog if ur a real ice eater
Grabbing the fuck I don't give ❤️🌸
❈ Grim Aesthetics ❈
Vanguard 1 has a problem.
Memories are sometimes a relief, and sometimes they are torture. But we hold onto the memories, because they’re what we have left.
-13 Reasons Why
I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, shhh. I don’t say, it is okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children. We are sore from this grief, like we’ve returned from a run, like we are training for a marathon. I’m with you all the way, says my grief, whispering, and then we splash our face with water and stretch, one big shadow and one small.
Callista Buchen, “Taking Care”
“People don’t know how to be when grief enters a house. She came with me everywhere, like a daughter.”
Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water
Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must take care of what has been given. Brush her hair, help her into her little coat, hold her hand, especially when crossing a street. For, think,
what if you should lose her? Then you would be sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness would be yours. Take care, touch her forehead that she feel herself not so
utterly alone. And smile, that she does not altogether forget the world before the lesson. Have patience in abundance. And do not ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment
by herself, which is to say, possibly, again, abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult, sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child. And amazing things can happen. And you may see,
as the two of you go walking together in the morning light, how little by little she relaxes; she looks about her; she begins to grow.
Mary Oliver, “Love Sorrow”
I'm just a artist learning to love myself and recover from my past.peace love and positivity ❗️BLACKLIVESMATTER❗️
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