"I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else."
Vladimir Nabokov (via nczv)
"Don’t confuse my personality with my attitude. My personality is who I am. My attitude depends on who you are."
Frank Ocean (via versacetits)
"It is an occupational hazard that anyone who has spent her life learning how to lie eventually becomes bad at telling the truth."
Ally Carter, Heist Society (via bahhhhboon)
kohlberg created this whole scheme of moral reasoning
with three levels. when we are little, we take action with
the intent to gain rewards and avoid punishment. when
we grow older, we see rules as black and white, good or bad.
by the time we are thirteen, we are capable of constructing
a “wider picture” where morality exists on a spectrum
of circumstance and understanding.
kohlberg killed himself.
the reward: breathing no longer.
the punishment: the pain it brings your family, your friends,
a stranger on the street.
we want to say “it would only hurt those closest to me”
but humans mourn as a whole, as a group, as one single breathing entity. what is lost to one person
is lost to us all.
we want to know your story.
this is why we hate book burnings.
the black: a grave your best friend reads her poetry at,
standing in ballet flats with the mud sluicing up around her feet,
wondering idly if the grass growing over your plot
is fed by your bones, wondering if the dandelions there
are your way of listening,
knowing that you’re actually dead and you didn’t stick around
long enough to see her succeed, kind of hating you, kind of
jealous, kind of wondering what made you do it
because she’s pretty sure it was her own failure and
trust me when i say this will fuck up
every relationship she will have
from that moment on.
she will never ever be over this.
the demons in your brain might tell you different - that
we all move on, that we make new friends -
but she won’t be the same person. for years, she will be hollow
instead. you won’t be there to stop her
from getting way too drunk, night after night,
you won’t insist she puts down the sixth tequila shot and
she will end up in the hospital, you won’t
be there to sit with her on days where she needs someone so
she’ll just sit there, alone, you won’t be there
to stop her from dating people she knows are bad news
and she’ll do it all just out of want for the distraction from
missing you, just out of the desire to escape
from the six foot hole
you drove inside her.
the white: no one will speak poorly of you
for at least a month. no one decent, at least.
in fact, no one will speak of you at all
because your name will sit like a bitter seed on their tongue.
they will avoid talking about you because that’s what people
do with pain: they dance away from it until the bad nights
where the boxes they shoved their guilt and horror
and utter misery into will tumble down onto their heads and
suffocate them. this sounds great if you’ve been bullied.
good, let them suffer for this.
but the truth is, there are more good people than bad out there
and the good ones will blame themselves
more than the cruel ones ever will.
girls who are used to helping out the hurt little birds of
their classes will find themselves
wondering how they didn’t see you in time,
how it was possible one slipped through their fingers. boys
who just wanted someone to talk to
about how bad it gets will wonder if they should take that final step, too, because if you can’t do it
why should they be able to.
people who are kind
but have been too shy to approach you
will all sit in your classes and stare at your empty seat
until they want to puke.
the full spectrum of morality: don’t kill yourself,
not for anyone else
but because your story hasn’t panned out.
you are still in the exposition.
the greatest novels have the hero go through hell
in order to walk out forged by fire,
heart as strong as steel and a future so bright it burns to look at.
there is always something you are good at. there are people
you could save by sharing where you have been.
grow up to be a psychiatrist,
a teacher, a parent, an artist, a nurse -
make sure this doesn’t happen to kids anymore.
there are poems to write and kites to fly and
so many adventures to be had, so many
impossible moments you can’t even fathom, so many brilliant
tiny miracles that will keep you afloat for just a little bit longer,
just a little bit more
and i know this because i’ve been where you are and
for the last month i’ve been in the bad place,
the utter dark –
but i’ve been able to get out of it
using my teeth and claws and the skills i’ve developed
after a long, long time of doing this and
i’m maybe not perfect but i’m getting stronger.
eventually, this disease
won’t control me anymore.
i hope you’ll be there the day that i’m better
because i want to be there for you, too. we can both celebrate
our getting through.
"Is desire not that which remains always unthought at the heart of thought?"
Michel Foucault, The Order of Things (via gloomy-planets)
"I hate going to sleep with you on my mind and not in my bed."
Sleep (via buryme-inthesky)
who hates themselves
is a special kind of violence,
a fight inside the bones,
a war within the blood."
Yrsa Daley-Ward ‘A steady, blunt Self Harm.’ (via thiswillnotlast)
"Don’t worry about your body.
It isn’t as small as it once was,
But honestly, the world needs more of you.
You look in the mirror
like you’ve done something wrong,
But you look perfect.
Anyone who says otherwise is telling a lie
to make you feel weak.
And you know better.
You’ve survived every single day,
for as long as you’ve been alive.
You could spit fire if you wanted."
For My Mother When She Doesn’t Feel Beautiful (via likethedictionary)
"I think we are well-advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were."
Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem (via twelvestepped)
"I’m still depressed, but how depressed I am varies, which is good. Much of the time, it’s a comfortable numbness that just makes things feel muted. Other times, I’m standing in the shower or something and I can feel the nothingness hurtling toward me at eight thousand miles per hour and there’s nothing I can really do aside from let it happen and wait until it goes away again."
Allie Brosh, Hyperbole and a Half (via maiemer)
"Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you
That you may be my poem
I whisper with my lips close to your ear
I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you."
Walt Whitman (via thethorninhisside)
"I am rooted, But I flow"
Virginia Woolf (via thesaltwaternight)
"How stupid of me; to think I was the only flower in your garden."
6 a.m. thoughts (via gorenymph)
"My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them."
― Laurell K. Hamilton (via psych-quotes)