Maybe I will post bits from hyperbole and a half until one day I’ll wake up and not have to do life anymore. What a relief that would be!
shoutout to all the other ex-gifted & talented/honor student/straight a/senior editor/star student/99th percentile/once-creative burn-outs who have, since high school, realized they are truly miniscule fish in a giant, endless ocean, criticized themselves to the point of creative paralysis, and participated in so much self-sabotage they no longer see the point of doing anything at all because they’re just going to ruin it for themselves anyway
this one’s for you
Omg why do I try to put anything into words ever, I hate it. Sew me up ):
Who thought it was a good idea to watch Teeth without a backup care plan? “Oh just one little rape scene I can handle it,” says I. Actually the whole movie is like an extended rape scene? And I feel so terrible now. Making some terrible decisions like not feeding myself (ughguhugh) and dropping down to part time uni because I can’t do it and I don’t really want to. Clawing around for someone to come over and be gentle with me/give a bit of comfort. Asked my date but he’s flaky? Anyway writing stuff down is kind of self-care.
One of the best mom moments in TV history. I wish more parents knew how important it is to validate their children’s feelings.
<3 <3 <3 <3 </3
i love marge so much
crying a bit.
Mum and I took ok care of each other this weekend.
by Kait Rokowski
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
Took the bus home,
Carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
And cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
Worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
Only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
And slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
Locked my door,
And remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course,
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
How I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs,
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
Cleaned every dish I own,
Fought with the bank,
Took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
But I don’t speak for others anymore,
And I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burnt down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
And it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
Or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”
Gotta take this seriously and rebuild my relationship with myself, because damn. Caring about what happens to y’self, damn.