I think about this sometimes: about how messed up we all really are on the inside. How we put on this “day face” and try to just live life and be okay, but underneath all that we have all these layers of neuroses and disappointments and unresolved issues that stay dormant until they’re triggered. Not overtly, most of the time — we wouldn’t be able to function if it were overt all the time — but under. Underneath us, inside of us. Things that happened to us that changed us. Heartbreak and trauma woven into the texture of our skins.
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger but it also makes us fucking tired.
…Of course, someone somewhere always has it worse. And I’m not going to say everyone deserves some sort of medal for getting out of bed in the morning. But damn it, when you think about all this weight that piles up on us, and all our different coping strategies (some adaptive, some not so much), and the scars we accumulate throughout our lives (everyone has them) that make us all the interesting damaged messes that we are; the way we individually experience loss and heartbreak and nothingness and push through it, we’re doing a pretty good job as humans. We do things. We go to work. We go to school. We do the laundry. We breathe. We function. We grieve and we pick ourselves up and adapt and keep going.
We keep moving, because there’s not a whole lot else to do.
”—What Doesn’t Kill Us Makes Us Something (Mila Jaroniec)
“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider.”—Timothy Leary (via onlinecounsellingcollege)
“recovery is a funny fucking thing
because just when you think
that the storm has passed,
there’s that one little raindrop can
trigger a hurricane that
leaves a disaster zone in it’s wake.”—he called me fat, and now all I can think of are calories, thigh gaps, and how to avoid eating every meal. a.a.a. (via affairedecoeur)
“I know I’m recovering, but there are still times my skin itches to be ripped apart. There are times I think about killing myself. I mean, I wouldn’t put a bullet through my brain, I guess it’s just because I want a break, an escape. I want to get away from the war inside my head, and sometimes I feel like I won’t unless I’m dead.”—i.c. // “Struggling” (via delicatepoetry)