glasscases

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What an odd contradiction it is, to look for happiness in the same places you lost it.

subjectiveanalysis (via wnq-writers)

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But in that moment I understood what they say about nostalgia, that no matter if you’re thinking of something good or bad, it always leaves you a little emptier afterward.

John Corey Whaley, Noggin (via wordsnquotes)

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It ends or it doesn’t. That’s what you say. That’s how you get through it. The tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. It ends or it doesn’t. If the sun never comes up, you find a way to live without it. If they don’t come back, you sleep in the middle of the bed, learn how to make enough coffee for yourself alone. Adapt. Adjust. It ends or it doesn’t. It ends or it doesn’t. We do not perish.

Caitlyn Siehl, It Ends or it Doesn’t (via alonesomes)

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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 burned 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.”

Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)

You know that moment when you search yourself on tumblr & your poem has 150,000 notes?

Wait…what? Ok.

(via kaitrokowski)

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Smiling because Columbus, OH.

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Opportunity to Help Abuse Survivors

Hey all! My lit magazine Persephone’s Daughters, dedicated to empowering women who have experienced various forms of abuse and degradation, will be releasing its first online issue in September, but there is also a great deal of interest from our readers in distributing print copies as well.

In order to make this happen, we need to raise enough money for the printing costs of the magazine, which we will be creating through Blurb. Our calculated total comes to $1300 in order for us to create and print 100 copies. By supporting this mission, you will be helping to empower survivors of abuse, harassment, violence, and degradation, as the majority of readers who will be receiving these print copies are survivors. This magazine is one of the only such magazines with this healing aim in the world.

You can donate here to help this happen. Even $1 helps immensely.

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accepting and giving kisses to/from a boy who has big hands and a bearded face quickly and quietly in the dark but still being so afraid of him, and yourself, and men, so you come inside to your room and quietly lock your door and touch your neck and lay in your body on your bed and hate yourself for wanting more but also letting yourself dream of more and you don’t know what to call this feeling because it’s so new and his saliva is still on your skin and its 2:30 in the morning and everything feels fresh as rain and you text your best friend about it but you know he’s asleep and also the feeling of not knowing how to feel and you’re still wearing makeup and your hands smell like cigarettes and he touched your hair and the door is still locked and all you could say to him was thank you

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❤️

For my teacher on National Suicide Prevention Day

Today is National Suicide Prevention Day. Two of the people who guided me to where I am today have both taken their own lives. My high school english teacher who’s class I was failing, took me aside one day after I totally broke down and gave me his copy of On The Road. He told me that I was one of the smartest kids he had in his class. I had a 12 (OUT OF 100!) in said class. He said that school isn’t for everyone and that I should follow my dreams. He was my first Robin. He could have gotten fired for telling a student its ok to drop out but he saw something in me that no one else did, and that I certainly didn’t. That sometimes I still don’t. I always tried to find him to tell him how well I was doing. To tell him that I listened to him. To tell him that I finally believe him. That i’ve been on TV with noble prize winners. That some days I think i’m smart. That education doesn’t always come from books. That my posts about him (including this one) are probably riddled with spelling mistakes and grammar errors but that it doesn’t matter. Writing is about heart not commas. That I went on the road. That it changed my life. That I still haven’t read the Joy Luck Club like I was supposed to in class but I write like if I stop the world will end.

When I found out he died by suicide, just like when I found out last year about my other friend, my first thoughts were selfish. What did I do? In my darkest moments I thought “welp if the two people who believed in me died this way that way what does that say about me?!”. The bottom line is this. We don’t know who is hurting. Sometimes it’s the people who help others the way they can’t help themselves. I wouldn’t be sober, following my dreams, or maybe alive if it wasn’t for these two people. They gave to others what they couldn’t give to themselves. They lived with purpose. So we have to pay these people back.

We need to ask if they are ok. We need to be friends. We need to push aside the urge to be selfish. We can’t project insecurities. We need to live like they begged us to. We need to listen. We need to listen. We need to listen. And we need to love like if we stopped the world would end.

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beauty :)

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Kiss Me Darling: Girly…

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Unknown 

I wish I could unpin the stars 

Pry them from the sky 

And give them to you 

Along with my whispers 

And eyelashes 

And all the butterflies 

On this earth 

But instead I cower alone 

With the stars in their place 

And with you in yours