Lets Talk About How Hard It Is To Open Up To Someone About Being Sad For No Reason. Lets Talk About How

i need to stop imagining scenarios in my head that have a -2% chance of actually happening it’s becoming a problem

“one of the biggest lies i’ve ever told myself is ‘i don’t care’. i’ve always thought if i start caring about other people, i’ll become weaker, more vulnerable. so, instead, i convince my naïve self that i don’t care. i self sabotage myself into believing people can leave me and i won’t give two flying fucks. but i do care. i deeply care.”

—

“Solitude isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it’s just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling listening to the same song over and over again as it slowly loses its meaning. Sometimes it’s how people go mad because they couldn’t tame the darkness that was growing within them over time. Some days it’s a girl waking up without her soul. Some nights it’s a boy falling asleep with his spirit crushed. Sometimes it’s someone wanting to lose themselves to a person, but instead, they push that person away. Solitude only becomes a prison when you do not love yourself. And even if you do love yourself it’s still a very dangerous thing, and the very benefits of it are the stars shining in its purest darkness. Solitude isn’t always pretty but also are the truths that we find within ourselves when we learn to find solace in it.”

— Juansen Dizon, The Art of Solitude (via juansendizon)

“for muslim girls who have considered suicide when iman is not enough. to the sisters who can’t bring themselves to face a city they have never set foot in. whose knees haven’t felt the redemption of grandma’s sijada for the third week in a row. in your dreams, you bloody your knees in prostration hoping that if you busy your tongue with prayer you can plea purpose into your life. in your nightmares you do not believe in God. for muslim girls who are told depression is just a side effect of doubt. the girls who swear they have heard the sound of spine cracking under the weight of family honor. of endless expectations. of becoming more symbol than human. the ones who found religion in the beating hearts of dim basements and soft hands. the girls who desperately want to believe and the ones who do but are told not enough. for the muslim girl whose body has not left her bed’s embrace in too many days. sinking is supposed sin, soaking in self-loathing. for turning the shape of his mouth into a house of worship, his skin into scripture. for managing to be too much and not nearly enough in the same supplication. ‘questioning is for the cowardly. the shameful. the undeserving of breath.’ since when did living require permission and whose are you looking for? for muslim girls who would rather hurt themselves than cause harm to anyone else. you are afraid that you will slice yourself open and won’t stop pouring. spilling your insides inside out. you do not want to leave an ugly stain behind. you would rather go quietly. clean. all hushed whispers and round edges. you would rather tiptoe around the part where your eyes close and the door shuts gently behind you. maybe even, you would rather remain. for muslim girls who have considered suicide when the world was not enough. have you ever wondered what God was thinking when he molded you into being? when he breathed life into you, did his breath smell like dark roast coffee? or something sweeter? there is a universe inside you growing each day you decide to love too hard or brave the world with your softness. they say you are impossible: faith does not go well with the fear of living. but I bet. I bet if you were stuck in a room with God and walked a step towards him, He will run to you. and if the ocean becomes ink for love letters from your Lord, surely the ocean would be drained before His words ever come to an end.”

— D.S. , for muslim girls who have considered suicide / after Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls

DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME

“those who don’t have a dream, it’s okay. it’s okay if you don’t have a dream. you just have to be happy“

“My depression has ruined so many more things than just my mind. All of my relationships and friendships broke apart only when my sadness spoke to them.”

—

Depression does not always mean

Beautiful girls with visible scars on their wrists. Depression does not always mean having a bad day at work.

Sometimes depression means not getting out of bed for three days in a row because your feet refuse to believe that they will not shatter upon impact on the floor.

Sometimes depression means that summoning the willpower to do the laundry and change your bed sheets is the most impressive thing you’ve accomplished all week.

Sometimes depression means lying there for hours, because you cannot convince your body that it is capable of movement.

Sometimes depression means not being able to write for days, weeks even because the only words you have to offer the world are;

“I’m trapped”

“I’m drowning”

“I swear to god I’m trying”

Sometimes depression means that every single bone in your body aches but you have to keep going through the motions because you cannot call into work with the excuse of depression.

Sometimes depression means ignoring every text and phone call for an entire month because yes, they have the right number but you are not the person they are looking for, not anymore.

you can still radiate light if you’re sad. you can still be kind and soft-hearted if you’re a bit cynical. you don’t need to be the happiest person to make someone else’s day better.