I Decided This Was Almost Mandatory To Create

WHAT THE FUCK starring WHAT THE FUCK feat. sambucky

in the au where the wizarding world handles things a little more logically (like, say, checking sirius and peter’s wands for who cast the blasting spell) and sirius doesn’t go to azkaban

sirius ends up raising harry

and obviously remus is along to make sure sirius doesn’t either a: spoil harry into oblivion or b: accidentally kill harry

so harry, growing up with them, goes to hogwarts, and gets someone who asks the question of “do you have a mum” and harry replies with “sort of, i have a moony.”

and sirius hears about this on holiday and starts referring to remus as “moomy” bc he’s horrible

and after some time of this, remus just finally turns around and gives sirius a completely deadpan look and just says

“dadfoot”

My body: we need food! water! PLEASE! WE CAN’T LIVE ON CAFFEINE AND NICOTINE!

Me:

The feminine urge to not finish a book because I'm emotionally attached to it and don't want it to be over.

Mania- Poem

Sometimes mania can be good.

It can be the wind beneath your wings as your mind goes a million miles a second- fast enough to let you fly.

It can show you the different paths of brilliance.

It can be like a burst of energy that gives you the energy to finish every project you have.

It can make you feel alive with color and light.

It feels

like a warm blanket

Like the gentle moonlight

Like a piano melody

Like love.

It can feel like you can breathe in stars and swallow lightning.

It’s the certainty that you can do and be anything you want to be, the knowledge that life is worth living.

But sometimes it’s not that pretty.

Sometimes it’s pacing for hours on end because your mind is going too fast and you can’t sit still.

Sometimes it’s feeling the need to scream because your skin feels too tight and too hot; constricting, limiting-you want to fly.

Sometimes it’s not sleeping for days and seeing people’s faces change into hideous creatures. Thinking it’s them. Knowing it’s them.

Sometimes it’s anger-

At others.

At yourself.

At everything.

At nothing.

It’s a haze of crimson and violet, a thumping in your chest, a hurricane in your mind. It’s the feeling that the ground is burning and you want to either soar to the skies or jump into the fire.

You want

To feel.

You want

To be free.

Sometimes mania is being torn between picking whether you’d rather drown in the depths of emotion or die of thirst in the desert.

I wish you would get out of my mind

Just for awhile

I wish I could kick you out of my bruised heart

To finally breathe

Without feeling the weight of loving you

And sometimes recovery doesn’t look like medications or therapy appointments or healing wounds and fading scars.

Sometimes it looks like wearing a seatbelt when driving a car

or hesitating before you cross the street.

It looks like breakfast when you remember to eat and by god, it’s okay if it has to be something sweet. (Chocolate chip muffins are my favorite treat.)

Sometimes recovery looks like remembering to shower even when the midnight hour is telling you it is too late,

and sometimes it looks like leaving at half past eight when your school or job started at seven.

Sometimes recovery looks more like hell than heaven but oh, there is brilliance in the way it shines,

it is more human and broken and less divine, but it is no less beautiful. (And I promise you it takes my breath away.)

Sometimes recovery is choosing to stay even after you’ve decided to leave, sometimes recovery is less joy, more grief, sometimes it’s agony, sometimes it’s relief,

and messy, by god is it messy.

But it is recovery.

And if all I can do is remind you that all recovery does not look the same,

And that you do not bear the blame if yours takes longer than others.

(Because there is no timeline to recover all that matters is that you just don’t give in.)

If you just let yourself stand again you will have already won the war, because recovery is deciding that you are worth fighting for

and you are, dearheart, you are.

Sometimes recovery doesn’t look like fading scars but it does look like you do today,

a quarter to nine, well past eight rushing because you are late

but your seatbelt is on and your favorite song plays on the radio.

That’s basically how I feel about it.