Nobody seems to understand why the past is so important to me. When your life shatters around you, you have to find all the pieces. You can’t just replace them. They matter and without all of them, the picture makes no fucking sense.
Where you come from, it’s who you are. It’s the answer to all of the hanging question marks above your head. Those answers don’t always come. And I think even the ones that do, arrive later.
The things you forget or can’t recover? Loss. All loss.
That’s a part of you too. It’s alright.
But it’s normal to want to know where you come from. What you come from. It’s a road map, a flashlight, a compass.
It’s holy fucking annoying when someone gets under your skin, disappoints you, and then you barely have any words about it.
I’m fucking stupid.
Hope you’re having a fantastic night.
There are so many things that I do not know. What I do know are these things:
Whatever it means, I love you. I tend to interpret abstract concepts like love in a very expansive way, for the record. But I do. I love you. As my friend. As a lover. As a person. You’re great.
You have carried something special to me since the day I met you. I am not often drawn to people, and I’ve always had a weak spot for you. For whatever reason. Since the day I first laid eyes on you. When you spoke, you became the center of the universe. I can’t explain any part of it. But I’ve wanted, blindly, basely, irresistibly, to be connected with you in some way. For as long as I’ve known you. Unconditionally.
For what it’s worth (likely nothing!) I will always love you. In the way that I do. I obviously have strong romantic feelings for you, but I think you’re special enough, truly, that I could always be your friend. Whatever happens. I mean, provided that you don’t do something fucking stupid.
I think you’re very special though.
These are the things I know with every piece of my being, but cannot explain.
I’m not simply surviving anymore.
I’m not faking anything.
I’m not faking anything.
I’m not faking anything because I have to, anyway.
I’m feeling. Being. Enjoying things.
For so long I’ve been acting. I’ve been a shell that was filled with all of the wrong things. I had to study the art of seeming ok. Of being ok. Of smiling when good things happened, even if those good things meant nothing to me.
I haven’t felt self-conscious about a lack of happiness in a year. I haven’t looked around, realized that my listlessness was buzzkilling everyone in the room, and laughed because that’s what you do.
I’m full of (if not the right things) something now. I’m excited about stuff again. I’m better, I’m better.
I could scream with joy.
I never thought. I never thought it could be like this, again.
Bruised but not broken.
“I was reading some Alan Moore Marvelman for some reason today. I found one in the back there and I couldn’t believe. I pick it up and there are fucking two rapes in it and I suddenly think how many times has somebody been raped in an Alan Moore story? And I couldn’t find a single one where someone wasn’t raped except for Tom Strong, which I believe was a pastiche. We know Alan Moore isn’t a misogynist but fuck, he’s obsessed with rape. I managed to do thirty years in comics without any rape!”
- Grant Morrison
To me, these strongly negative reactions to this woman’s critique really speak to how the term “politically correct” is a massive use of projection. The truth is not that people who think critically about how entertainment reinforces stereotypes and oppressions just go around getting all offended at stuff without even thinking about it, reacting solely on how our self-centered, solipsistic emotions react. The truth is that that’s exactly what uncritical fanboy fonts of unexamined privilege do whenever they’re told their favorite things might be alienating or offensive to other people. — Fannie, “On Politically Correct, Again” (via morecoffee)
remember when i thought i only liked boys
remember when i thought i only liked girls
remember when i was under the delusion that my sexuality was anything that could be explained without getting extremely flustered and ending up shouting “I DON’T FUCKING KNOW THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO ARE CUTE AND IT MAKES ME UPSET”
(Source: churchrat, via tragically-magically)
(Source: nahhnevermind, via jaydynamite)
(Source: davidboterhoek, via autrysmusic)
Yesterday something clicked for me that’s never clicked before.
I figured out the answer to the gigantic hanging question mark in my life.
I am 100% taking joy in my own self from now on. Not as a reaction to something. I just am. I must.
I will no longer give my time and energy to those who do not respect me. I will expect reciprocal respect and energy and investment always, and if it is not given, I will move on. Because I am worth that.
I will never pine again. I will never overcompensate with bitchiness because I have nothing to fake anymore. I will never appease or attempt to impress again. I will not define myself by anyone’s opinion but my own.
I will trust myself. I do trust myself. I love myself. I finally get this somehow. It feels fucking awesome.
Deadline: November 2, 2013; 22 weeks
Goal 1: Complete a 5k at a jogging pace without stopping
Goal 2: Continuously work to pare down time and increase distance.
Goal 3: Anticipate and train for obstacles
This is my new hobby while I’m broke and out of school.
there are more juggalos on earth than there are polar bears. if that isnt enough to make you care about global warming then i dont know what is
(Source: vaspim3, via learnblog)
(Source: bl-y, via tea-andcigarettes)
all i want is you
(Source: hopingicouldbesomeone, via cuntsandcadavers)