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C. JoyBell C. (via kushandwizdom)

(via broken-from-memories)

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.

brakechecks:

" you’re gonna have that tattoo for the rest of your life"

Wow really?

I didn’t..

are you serious?

(via broken-from-memories)

Pearl (via psych-facts)

(via broken-from-memories)

Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation.
Depression is humiliating.
If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too.
Depression is humiliating.
No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.

i.c. // "I’m content with loneliness."
"Are you really?" (via delicatepoetry)

(via broken-from-memories)

You’ve been so accustomed to your lips
only touching your mug each morning that
the thought of them touching another person’s
skin unsettles you. You will walk out the door
with a scarf around your neck and “nobody” in
your mind except the anxiety that haunts your
every step. Passing others on the street, but
never to look up and make eye contact because
god forbid if you see another pair of eyes admiring
yours. You’ll sit alone in class with your head in a
book or your mind lost in music, you’ll look around
to see everybody’s got somebody, except for you.
I mean, who cares anyway, right? People are just
people, they aren’t permanent. They always leave.
At least that’s what you’ve told yourself more than
a thousand times in the stillness of the night when
the only thing your tongue is craving is to taste the
feeling of company. So when you get home you’ll
kick off your shoes and fall on your bed, you won’t
let that one person back into your head. Being
alone is okay, being alone is good, being alone
helps you think. Yet thinking is what is killing you,
suffocating you. You check your phone every ten
minutes even when you know no one has called,
no one has texted. You’ll convince yourself it’s
only a habit, when this habit only formed because
deep down you’re hoping, hoping for someone,
anyone to take away the loneliness.

Prozac Nation (Elizabeth Wurtzel)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via versature)

Homesickness is just a state of mind for me. I’m always missing someone or someplace or something. I’m always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. My life has been one long longing.

(via ckgarden)

(Source: psych-facts, via ckgarden)

Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation.
Depression is humiliating.
If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too.
Depression is humiliating.
No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.

Hanamoto Hagumi, from Honey and Clover  (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: stephanericherthanyou, via bl-ossomed)

I love the rain. I love how it softens the outlines of things. The world becomes softly blurred, and I feel like I melt right into it.
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