thebrightstar:

finchfry:

the best and most accurate thing

This literally NEVER gets old.


egberts:

i dont understand people who only sleep with one pillow


“You are not what they say you are, and you are not even what they think you are. You are who you choose to be.You are the way you choose to live, to speak, to think, to wonder and to wander. You are what you are most profoundly thankful for, and what you love” — Ralph Marston (via runtowardsyourfear)


“The woman has a lethal ego, she can make you feel that she hates you, while she’s madly in love with you.” — (via spasi-i-sahrani)


There’s a new thing nowadays. I cry all the time. I cry in the morning, I cry in the staff room when I’m on my break, I cry when I’m going to bed and I cry whenever anyone leaves me alone. I just cry all the time and I’m not sure why.


Fuck I fucking relapsed and I fucking hate myself again I got so good for a while just not doing it because I know how much it would hurt the children in my nursery if I knew what I was doing but it’s not working anymore and I hate myself for doing this to myself again when I fucking promised


I want to die. I want to die. I feel so fucking pathetic. No one understands. I’m stressed out to fuck. No one understands that “fuck off, leave me alone” means “please stay with me”. NO ONE gets it. Not even you get it. I just want to disappear. I want to vanish off the face of the earth.




humqn:

is your name tumblr because i want to be on you all night long ;)


never ever thought I'd see it break...


i. he says “you don’t write as much as you used to” and i swallow what feels like sawdust and just kind of shrug and tell him something like “just not inspired” when really it’s more like everything feels muted to me, a white cloud of nothing on top of the beauty i used to see

ii. he says “you don’t kiss me the way you used to” and i tell him i’m just distracted i’m just thinking but i’m fine i really am i’m so fine and i’ve never felt like my bones were the burying place for my being

iii. my family plays a game where we make faces at each other during fancy dinners. the only one i cannot master is the one where you force a smile without making the rest of your face follow. when i was in eighth grade i sat in front of a mirror for two hours slowly teaching myself how to make every grin look like happiness. i have gotten in too much practice since then.

iv. he says “you don’t love writing anymore it’s worrying me” but i just don’t really love anything(?)

v. am i okay or am i just so used to being numb that i really don’t expect to feel anything at this point

vi. good lord on some nights i wish i had the courage to actually tell someone about this but good lord i probably won’t because i am sick to death of hearing myself talk

vii. am i okay or have i just lied enough about it that i’ve started fooling myself because to be honest at this point i don’t really wanna die but i’m not sure that i’ve ever actually been alive.

” — "He wants to know whats wrong but I don’t know how to tell him…” /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)