*nerium* posted a quote
December 14, 2014 10:54pm UTC
And maybe I should love you more, because you're just as sad as I am but you don't go around crying and cutting yourself in the bathtub. Maybe I should love you more, because you never cry in front of me even when your eyes are so f.ucking sad I want to pull mine out. Maybe I should love you more, because I'm horrible and nasty and the things I say to you would make me want to die but still you're here caring for something as awful as I am. Maybe I should love you more.
Oceans I feel when it begins as the tide yanks me around, tugging me, and the water churns, dark and stormy, ready to take its chance My chest tightens as my lungs fill with sea foam with brilliant shades of white and pale green, their hues choking me s l o w l y My legs are weights and I'm wearing cement, and I begin sinking to the bottom of the sea, coughing and sputtering and gasping for air I struggle to hold onto the world or what’s left of it – the small sliver of light I can see, shimmering above me There’s nothing to grasp onto, nothing to anchor me. Funny, How that only makes me sink The waves c r a s h and so do I, I keep drowning like there is no bottom, simply unexplored ocean, taking me to depths even shipwrecks have never been maybe, that's all i'll be, a shipwreck torn into pieces at the bottom of the world, right from whence i came and If I survive I know I’ll have to face these waters again; I always do it's as sure as the high and low tides, as sure as my own highs and lows, And I know the oceans will be waiting. format credit = destabilise
hyperion* posted a quote
February 14, 2014 9:59pm UTC
"that's the thing though, i'm pretty lonely most of the time so i stay at home and cry in bed, and i don't even do anything anymore, so it's like i'm pretty much dead." "but really, you're not. you're still performing vital life processes, right? and you're still converting air into carbon dioxide. so scientifically, you're not dead, and when all else fails to please or comfort you, i think that should, a little."
hyperion* posted a quote
February 3, 2014 9:49am UTC
When I was in the hospital I was roomed with a schizophrenic And she was the most gentle person I have ever met There was a boy with a long deep slit across his neck Who told very funny jokes A girl who never spoke a word Would draw the most beautiful pictures The boy who shook with anxiety Could hold the most intelligent conversations Even the girl who screamed in her sleep and picked at her skin Had a heart the size of the ocean We are not who you think we are
nothing about me is poetic. nothing about how I think is beautiful; the fact that I hate myself, and want to tear open my veins, and think of twenty-two ways (and reasons) to kill myself before noon, isn’t tragically beautiful (it’s just tragic, and really fücking sad). don’t turn me into a misunderstood piece of art, and do not belittle my sorrows so your antagonist can have someone to save. nothing about me is poetic; nothing about me is beautiful. (DS)
Sha(me) 6 years old, happy face and happy belly I remember my yellow and blue swimsuit and not using floaties for the first time no one would've guessed that i was 6 years old and the bad voices were already there. fat, fat, fat, fat, fat I didn't know why I wasn't like the pink and purple swimsuited girls I called my best friends. 9 years old, crooked heart and hairline I was very, very alone for the very first time and the pink and purple shoed girls laughed at the big books in my flimsy arms. The pink and purple girls did handstands while I sat, picking nervously at my skirt and making acquaintances with the bad voices in my head. stupid, fat, stupid, fat, stupid 12 years old, choked-down tears and chubby face and I liked three boys and none of them liked me. They liked the skinny-minnie pink and purple bra'd girls with long straight hair and high-pitched cackles. stupid, fat, unwanted, fat, stupid, unwanted My arms carried my friends' arms now, but it made no difference. The bad voices knew better. I am 15 years old smaller body but not small enough, and the pink and purple girls still win it all. The bad voices poison me every day, they poison the me in the hallway the me in the mirror the me in my warm bed the me in the cold world the me on my therapist's sofa the me in my head the me in front of a plate the me in front of an exam But I will face the voices and I will sew their lips together and I will start to use my own more. I am waiting waiting waiting I hate this, I tried