what would you do?

i keep typing out paragraphs of text only to delete them within five seconds
there's so much i need to say but i can't / i don't know how / nothing seems right.
i can't do this, i'm unravelling 

i've been binge-watching gilmore girls for the last 4 days and

i'm not okay

(but i don't know how to say that out loud)

EVERYTHING'S FINE

i've always known i'd ruin me

i'm trying

i am not who you said i am. i am not how you define me

things i wish i could make you understand

"you’re going to be sad.
you’re going to want to scream and punch things. 
do it.
let out every ounce of anger you have.
sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb. 
listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet.
write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you.
throw your hairbrush at the wall.
do it twelve times.
do it until you feel like you can breathe again.

you’re going to be sad.
you’re going to want to hurt yourself.
don’t you dare do it.
sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little.
listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3am.
make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace.
brush all the knots out of your hair and say “i am worth it” into the mirror.
say it twelve times.
say it until you feel like you can breathe again.

you’re going to be sad.
you’re going to get through it"


by and via pessimistiic

i won't tell if you don't ask

i want to get to know you and for you to know me but i can never think of anything worthy enough to say so i don't say anything at all (and it hurts, my god does it hurt)

it's getting late, baby

all these small things, they gather round, gather round me. is the world gone mad? or is it me? 

is it all so very bad? i can't see. 

there are two reasons why people don’t talk about things; either it doesn’t mean anything to them, or it means everything

"if you could be anyone, would you choose to be yourself?"

before you know it it’s 3am and you’re 80 years old and you can’t remember what it was like to have 20 year old thoughts or a 10 year old heart

source: we love rain

you're my butterfly, sugar, baby

“your mental health comes before school baby, always. if its midnight, and you have an exam the next day but your hands have been shaking for the past hour and a half and you’re not so sure you want to be alive anymore, pull out that carton of ben and jerry’s and afterwards, go the fuck to bed. so what if you get a 68% on the exam the next day? you took care of yourself and at the end of the day that will always come before a high test score. to hell with anyone who tells you differently.”

abbie nielsen, dear future daughter

i forget where we were

"like most sensitive souls, you already know you’re sensitive. you soak up others’ moods and desires like a sponge. you absorb sensation the way a paintbrush grasps each colour it touches on a palette. the ethereal beauty of a dandelion, the shift of a season, the climax of a song, or a certain stirring scent can evoke such wonder it’ll behave as your very breath itself - moving through cells as fuel does to fire and wind does to waves." - victoria erickson

can't go home alone again // need someone to numb the pain

serrah russell's ongoing series 'equivalents'. she rephotographs imagery using polaroid, and crops the results to change the subject matter - taking away its original meaning and thus creating these abstract narratives seen below

you can see more of her work here (and i recommend that you do, i'm in awe)

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(i'm not sure what i'm doing here anymore)