“Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again — and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.”—Joshua Espinoza (via suchvodka)
“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another, unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made of layers, cells, constellations.”—Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 4: 1944-1947 (via hellanne)
“Stop saying it’s okay when your soul’s bleeding. Stop trying to dodge knives that always end up in the depths of your heart. Stop looking to the ceiling hoping that tears won’t overflow. Stop taking people’s shit. Walk away. Fuck them all.”—E.B., Self advice
“Mental illness turns people inwards. That’s what I reckon. It keeps us forever trapped by the pain of our own minds, in the same way that the pain of a broken leg or a cut thumb will grab your attention, holding it so tightly that your good leg or your good thumb seem to cease to exist.”—Nathan Filer, The Shock of the Fall
"I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, just more work. I felt like sleeping for five years but they wouldn’t let me.”
Let’s run in fields and fear the dark together. Fall off swings, and burn special things, and both play outside in bad weather.
Let’s eat badly. Let’s watch adults drink wine and laugh at their idiocy. Let’s sit in the back of the car, making eye contact with strangers driving past, making them uncomfortable.
Not caring. Not swearing. Don’t fuck.
Let’s both reclaim our superpowers; the ones we all have and lose with our milk teeth. The ability not to fear social awkwardness. To panic when locked in the cellar; still sure there’s something down there. And while picking from pillows each feather, let’s both stay away from the edge of the bed, forcing us closer together.
Let’s sit in public, with ice cream all over both our faces; sticking our tongues out at passers by. Let’s cry. Let’s swim. Let’s everything.
Let’s not find it funny lest someone falls over. Classical music is boring. Poetry baffles us both; there’s nothing that’s said is what’s meant. Plays are long, tiresome, sullen, and filled; with hours that could be spent rolling down hills, and grazing our knees on cement.
Let’s hear stories and both lose our innocence. Learn about parents and forgiveness, death and morality, kindness and art, thus losing both of our innocent hearts, but at least we won’t do it apart.
“I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to me to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.”—Fernando Pessoa, The Book Of Disquiet
“And it has been
of a year.
I have worn
under my sleeves,
on my thighs,
running down my cheeks.
This is what
looks like, my dear.”—Michelle K., It Has Been One Hell of a Year (via aestheticintrovert)
“We fell into silence, both of us keeping our own secrets of what we’d suffered in the other’s absence. I wondered if we were trying to protect each other or simply didn’t want to admit to our own fears and weaknesses.”— Richelle Mead, Silver Shadows (via quotes-shape-us)
“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince (via jannnnnet)
“I think about dying but I dont want to die. Not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic. There’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out of it.”—Matty Healy (via seltsames)