“I compare my mental illness to a person with a broken leg. I can get the survival basics down, the standing and walking. But even then I sometimes need support. And people don’t seem to understand: just because I was doing fine with a crutch doesn’t mean I’m healed enough to not need it any more. And then people approach me telling me to run a mile. I can hardly stand by myself, and they’re asking me to run a mile. I try explaining to them that I can’t. Not that I won’t, I CAN’T. But they don’t hear me. “Just try,” they say, “Everyone else struggles too. You need to run like everybody else.” And so I try, just like I’m told. And I hobble for a few steps before crumbling down - the pain in my leg is just too much to bear. And so I sit on the sidelines. Not by my own accord, not because they acknowledged my limits, but because I had to be in pain right before their eyes before they saw my problem. I had to demonstrate publicly the pain I was in before they believed me. And now I sit, ashamed, on the sidelines, everyone knowing how weak I am in comparison. And I had no say in it.”—Broken Minds and Broken Legs (via fairyk8lyn)
I dont want sex, i want the things that lead up to it. The slow kissing then the passionate kissing, then the pulling closer, the neck kisses, the grabbing, biting, heavy breathing, grinding, the pauses while you catch your breath, feeling each other. Oh my.
Okay so I am having the hardest time getting myself motivated to write on any of my stories. I even bought a quill pen thinking that would help. I am running out of ideas as far as motivating myself. It’s not even that I don’t have ideas to put to paper they just seem to want to stay in my head. It’s very saddening because I used to love writing. I don’t know what to do anymore…
Why do I keep doing this to myself? When will I change? How can I fix this? Why is it that I feel one thing while feeling the exact opposite and do something that only increases my turmoil? I know it’s selfish but I wish I.had finished what I started a year ago. I mean the longer it continues, the more people that get hurt. Maybe, its unhealthy but is it so bad if it eases the pain?
“Jack and Jill went up the hill to some mara-juana. Jack got high, unzipped his flay and said “Jill, do you wanna?” Jill said yes, unzipped her dress and then they did the hanky panky. That bitch Jill, forgot the pill and out popped baby Franky.”—Unknown
The feeling of relief washes over me like the tide over rocks strong and forceful almost pulling me under, if not for the weight of something inside of the relief …Fear While not overwhelming it’s presence keep me from sweeping away under the lullaby that is peace.
“When the little boy walked in on his parents having sex, his father told him they were making him a little sister. The next day the father found him crying in his room. He asked him what was wrong and the little boy answered: “you know that little sister you and mommy were making? Well today, the milkman ate it!”—unknown
I live for watching my sister close her eyes slowly and take relaxed breaths, for feeling the soft skin of her temple. I live for that sound that escapes her mouth when I make a face. What is more rewarding than clearing the forecast in your neighbor’s day? I live for the light bulb breaking into a rain of words. I live for the complete silence of an empty dome. No television, radio, phone. When I was mature, I lived for the simple way of life and making snow angels. I live for an intelligent conversation on living, for the new identity you take on in the corner of a soft couch. I live for the innocent coos of babies not yet adjusted to the course of words or a good shed of your skin in a time of happiness or sorrow. For the songs of the wise. For the songs of the lonely. For the songs of the mad. I live for those times waiting for the other to move away or towards the other. I live for his smokers’ cough, his tobacco scent, his wisdom and his spoiling. I live to feel helpless with that certain feeling of confidence. Nights of black after terror. I live for the gorgeous pain of the beginning of an old friendship attached by new glue. What does it matter if it makes you weep or smile as long as they pour into you? I live for those days I feel like a queen and nobody can change it. I live for a welcomed awakening after a suffocating day and on after a day of living.
I placed my lips to his grey skin. He sat as I put the fluffy red people prison over his pleading eyes. I show my small white teeth and added a blue gift topper to the top of a head I had to go on tiptoes to reach.
She takes her time rolling them tight. She leaves the scissors and walks to get a scarf. They itch! How do I get them out? They won’t roll out! …Light beams make the silver-covered savior shine on the table. My fingers barely close around the handles as the round hard things tumble down with small curls attached. They’re out! Her screams echo as I drop the culprits. My tears fall onto the long brown strands on my lap.
It hit me like a six ton truck, breaking my voice and piercing my heart, tasting of watered shampoo. Lights turn on bright, the smells of years old garbage strong. It wraps around my throat and the noise gets louder. The anger melting my chocolate body from inside. The red card of hatred Played out. He is as accepting as a seven shoe of a nine foot. I wait in hiding feeling betrayed. I realize that I am an exception to him. I will have to avoid certain places. His brick heart turns to putty when exceptions come to visit, remembering lost times of hidden hatred. L’uomo sicde el fissa negli occhi di notti, la calpa straccia al suo dispiacere. (The man sits and stares into nights eyes, guilt tearing at his regret.) All the while these rocks scream and hurt me. My voice broken off in my leaking heart.
I suck at this whole function like a normal human being thing, in general. However, when in a relationship, I seem to bring new meaning to completely fucked up. I’m pretty sure I should just be grateful that he’s patient enough to stay but, honestly, how long can THAT last? I mean, shit, I’m tired of me already. Pretty sure I don’t deserve this and I am purposely trying to prove that to myself…what a great sign for the future. Jeez, I get on my nerves.