Well let me get a little personal here. I mean.. It is MY tumblr, right? Where I have every right to be myself. Where I can pick little pieces of myself out of thin whirling air and tack them down to paper so maybe eventually I could fit them all together and get a slight glimpse of who I am. I’m sick of that question.. Who am I? Because right whenever I think I can breathe for a second, life runs me over and I start over all scrambled again. How can someone ever love me? Why do I make it so impossible for someone to wrap their arms around me for an extended period of time without feeling squeamish? I really wish I could drag myself out of me and kick the shit out of myself.. Kinda brutal. Kinda punk rock. But I can’t stand it. I live with a mental disability that literally forces me to naturally feel sad about life. Like what the actual fuck. It’s like wearing dimmed sorrowful sunglasses that are stuck on your face. And like you’re aware that they’re there, but no amount of effort is enough to get them off. Being bipolar is nothing to fucking joke about. Especially when you’re on the edge of (yet another) mental breakdown. Where will I go when I die? It’s all I fucking think about even when I don’t mean to think about it. Death is the central theme of my life. The dark cloak over my head and laced to my body. Even when great moments happen, I always feel a bottomless sadness that it really means nothing. Everything means nothing. Because eventually I’ll die and my thoughts will die with me. I can’t ever take any risks because I’m afraid it will lead to my death. Every decision I make is a careful one. But if I hate myself so much, how can I be so afraid to think that I will die? So afraid that sometimes I find comfort in the scarcity. Like it’s the only thing guaranteed to me. I want to live a happy life. And sometimes I do. Scarce moments where I feel like I am really a cosmic gem of the universe and like my soul will be infinite. Then it snaps back to black before I have a chance to drink it all up. Anything can spark a mood swing with me. Usually my own worries and anxieties. I don’t have any friends because there’s so many different people inside of me that I cannot contain. It makes me feel sad that I can’t meet new people without feeling a perpetual doom that they won’t like me. And why does it matter to me? I’m wise enough to know that not everyone likes everyone. I mean I really do know that. But something about the embarrassment takes me to the darkest place I’ve ever known. My own self worth. I am insecure as they come. I am just going to keep running around with my head cut off. I’ll let you know how that goes.
"If anybody could have saved me it would have been you."
-Virginia Woolf, excerpt from her suicide letter to her husband (via larmoyante)
"We loved with the volume turned up.
We loved at the top of our lungs.
The first time we kissed, speakers blew out.
And then we slowly grew quiet.
Tears streaming down my face, I choked out whispered words.
Do you even love me anymore?"
-And that, darling, was the loudest silence I had ever known. (via poppyflowerpoetry)