i’ve always been anxious and i’ve always been depressed but never so much have i felt that there is a built up wall of trauma and emotion that i’ve refused to deal with that is blocking me from being any bit creative or passionate or truly exploring myself and my life and i am ready to knock the wall down i feel so whole heartedly ready to process through my experiences and move on but i can’t drag myself much further out of this rut without help and i can’t find a therapist i feel comfortable talking to and it seems like there is nothing more terrifying than knowing you are ready and capable of growth but being trapped in your own mind and having to rely on yourself to pull you out

Sometimes you can love somebody with all of your heart and at the same time – NOT want them back. Everything has a breaking point – hearts included… and when it comes to broken hearts there’s only so many times you can piece yourself back together before you realize you can’t go through it any more.
You continue to love them, despite all of their flaws and the pain they’ve caused you…. But you don’t want them back because you realize deep down there’s no such thing as back.
Not back in time to undo everything that was said and done…. And not back together again because you’re not the same person anymore. You’ve been hurt so many times now that you’d rather break your own heart missing them – than give them the opportunity to do it again.

Sometimes, I’m the mess.
Sometimes, I’m the broom.
On the hardest days,
I have to be both.

I’m not surprised. I knew the day would come. I’m sure there have been other girls since me. This is just the first one I’m hearing about.

I hope you’re different now. I hope love is not something you use to wring the necks of those closest to you. I hope you no longer sit back and watch as your mental illness and refusal to deal with it squeezes the life out of her. I hope you never tell her that her actions are the reason you want to slit your wrists. I hope you never try to slit your wrists in her bedroom. I hope you never expect her to live up to the make believe version of her you’ve designed in your head. I hope you have a therapist. I hope you take your meds.

I hope she’s smarter than me. I hope she sees through you like I wasn’t able to. I hope she is never scared of you like I was. I hope she never blames herself. I hope she does what’s best for her. I hope she runs like hell.

I hope you don’t break her.

When a thing has served its purpose, it will go away. If you try to hold on to something that has already fulfilled its purpose in your life, you are going to hurt yourself. If holding on is disturbing your peace of mind, it makes sense to let go. Surrender all attachments to people and things that you have been struggling to hold on to.

smarmygryffindor:

even if Trump backs down on his more batshit policies he still:

• has a violently homophobic vp
  
• has an entire cabinet full of fascist, authoritarian actual politicians 
  
• best case scenario will be used as a puppet for a Republican House and Senate
  
• ran a campaign on white nationalism and popularized these ideas in modern-day American culture, resulting in many hatecrimes already and more to come
  
• fucked us all over
• will not be forgiven for it

grindbuster:

tumblr only has 10 levels and when youve completed all of them you have to delete. they are:

1. get 13 followers
   
2. argue with a random person
   
3. seen 1000 funny-ish jokes beaten to death in a matter of hours
   
4. feel exhausted by the sight of capital letters
   
5. get a gross message
   
6. block someone
   
7. seen that post about the reverse-albino lion
   
8. met up irl with a mutual 
   
9. given up
   
10. hate the whole website
    

If you want to forget something or someone, never hate it, or never hate him/her. Everything and everyone that you hate is engraved upon your heart; if you want to let go of something, if you want to forget, you cannot hate.

I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.