Just Another Human

Just Another Human Being

2 notes

singwhathurts:

there are days my bitterness and hatred seep out of me and this terrifies me because i don’t recognize the person i become when it happens. but i do know this person doesn’t deserve you.

Filed under holy shit truth

112,198 notes

ezrakoieng:

gaymommy:

a relationship will not cure your issues, no matter how hard young adult books and films try to push that notion on us. if you have depression or bipolar or anxiety or whatever, getting into a relationship isn’t going to cure that or make it go away. person with illness + relationship = ill person in a relationship. please don’t put all of your focus on finding someone to fix you, focus on fixing yourself the right way.

some of you should read this a couple times over 

(Source: ryden-gg, via speaking--in--tongues)

47,765 notes

stablevertigo:

What I mean when I say “I can’t do that”- Anxiety Version:

  • I am unable to do that
  • I am too stressed out to do that
  • I cannot face the humiliation of attempting to do that
  • My body will physically not allow me to do that
  • I am on the verge of a panic attack
  • I cannot do that

What people hear:

  • I am unwilling to do that
  • I am just shy
  • I am overreacting
  • I am lazy
  • I need to get more experience in social situation to help my anxiety
  • I need a push
  • I don’t want to do that

Inspired by X

(via foreversupergay)

83,196 notes

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via sex-drugs-and-lesbians)

Filed under tw trigger warning tw: self harm tw: suicial thoughts tw: abuse tw: alcoholism

394 notes

You come back
like a whisper, like a cloud’s underbelly
rolling into new land, and I
apologize to my knees. I tell them
“I am sorry, babies, for all
the grovelling we do together.”

Just in case I ever see you
tie promises to your tongue again,
rope them in and swallow and spit back up
into my cup half empty, just in case
I find you with back against brick wall
and her lips in your hair but
my name on your mind,

I have slept with sharpened pencils
under my pillow for a little more than
a week now. There are occasional
commas behind my ears and pinpricks
at my jugular, but I need to remind myself
even in my sleep that there are other things
that carry poison and poems
at the same damn time.

You come back easy,
you come back like it leaves no wrinkle.
You come back and I whisper
to my shoulders, I tell them
“Carry the world a little longer, my loves,
for here he comes
again.”

Lead Poisoning | Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)

(via singwhathurts)