My Name Is Written In Agony And Love That Consumes Me.
My name is written in agony and love that consumes me.
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I just read “each time you open a book and read, a tree smiles knowing there's life after death”and OH MY GOD
“It could’ve been worse.” It could’ve been BETTER. It could’e been EASIER. It could’ve been lovely. It could’ve been beautiful, it could’ve been fun. It could have been simple, it could’ve made you HAPPY.
You can drown in two feet of water just as simply as you can in an ocean. Stop downplaying what happened and neglecting your feelings. Kill that idea with fire. Or at least acknowledge that what happened was bad without immediately trying to justify or dismiss it.
Anger bursts inside of me as fire crackers under the moonlight, with a cackle first and then a battle cry.
Just dissociating after crying and spiralling for losing a bunch of hair, courtesy of my antidepressant and lack of self care. Enough living for today.
— Fernando Pessoa, from “The Book of Disquiet.”
i'm so sensitive that sometimes my brain makes my emotions go numb as a self-defense mechanism
And many, many valleys of sorrow and mountains of death.
Marina Tsvetaeva, from a diary entry featured in Earthly Signs Moscow Diaries, 1917-1922
I can't form so much as a tear
but I seem to be drowning still.
If my mental illnesses weren't enough, the seasonal cold has been sitting on my head making my mind even more cloudy and jammed. How is any of this fair?
