starspouredoutintohearts

[starspouredoutintohearts]

Sometimes when pain gets too frequent, stays too long, it's not pain anymore. It's just the news.

What should I do now? Should I write poetry? Should I edit my writing more so that people will read my pain if it's shorter? If I listen to music and write essays and send emails and go for a run and paint and switch off the lights and close the curtains and play music really loud will everything become okay? Will it reverse time and undo what happened? How much can I talk about this? Where should I draw the line? What should I do? Tell me what I should do.

Today I saw a video where a British surgeon held back his tears when he was talking about Gazan children's deaths. I don't know why, but it awoke something in me. It also put something in me to sleep. I've boycotted everything I know at this point I'm wishing the cats get fucking adopted just so that I can donate some money to somewhere where do I even pick, Gaza? Sudan? One of the 6 other genocides going on right now? How do you choose? Should I recover from my heartbreak and my assault, should I mourn over the death of my parts or should I mourn over the death of these children and the parts of these surgeons that will never revive? Should I focus on the rescue I have right now or the assignment I'm supposed to submit tomorrow? Should I put my energy into worrying which dating app well-intending person will be my next assaulter or should I worry about how I'm going to afford next week's cat food if I take this cat for a chest x-ray today? Should I tell my story to every single person I meet so that they *want* to cut me slack even if they end up not? So that I can explain my behaviour? "Draw a diagram of your sorrow and grief so we can approve your 2-day leave. No, not like that. That's too graphic. People don't like knowing that stuff." So that they look at me with eyes of pity that have a 48-hour timer of sympathy where our interactions are just long enough to feel like they did something good but not long enough to help ease my pain?

This time, am I allowed to just be sad and useless? Am I allowed to lean on the shoulder of loved ones without them asking me to tell them what they should say to support me? Or should I be turning my pain into art? Can I find a single loved one who will not ask me to carry the weight of their vicarious pain?

I'm not sure what to do now. I'm not sure if anger is the right word for what I'm feeling or if helplessness and grief are vast enough to describe what I'm feeling. I'm tired of feeling. I can never feel one thing, it's always 8 things at once, at least. And then I'm told I'm too much. Too much too much too much. How can such a small body hold so much? The truth is, it doesnt. Some of it is outside of me. I overflow. I run over. I am a vessel, full and hollow at the same time. If you think I'm too much, how do you think I feel every day? I wouldn't wish being me upon my worst enemy.

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Me

Drinks tea

Refuses to elaborate....

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you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[starspouredoutintohearts]

too much emphasis on girlbossing and not enough on girlsnoozing girlsleeping and girlchilling

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"but i swear I am not ableist"

okay,

have ever thought about your disabled friend when planning things?

do you wear a mask when you're sick and need to go out in a place where there are people?

do you believe a disabled person when they talk about their disability(ies)?

you know being ableist isn't only saying the word cripple, right?

[starspouredoutintohearts]

When a chronically ill or disabled person gets their lab tests back as “normal” or all clear, we aren’t sad because we WANT to be sick.

We’re sad because we *know* there’s something wrong with us, yet the scans still stay clear.

Before you kill the monster you gotta know its name.

[starspouredoutintohearts]

Songs that make me feel a Certain Way

“The Search” NF

“Gone Away” CG5 

“SHUM” Go-A

“Fool For Love” Lord Huron

“Eleanor Rigby” Cody Fry

“The Whistling Lad” The Hound + The Fox 

“Run Boy Run” Woodkid

“Eat Your Young” Hozier

“Hello My Old Heart” The Oh Hellos 

“Inkpot Gods” The Amazing Devil 

“Chant” Hadestown the musical

“She Lit A Fire” Lord Huron

“Secret Worlds” The Amazing Devi

“Foreigners God” Hozier

“Achilles Come Down” Gang of Youths

“Dirty Paws” Of Monsters And Men

“Pierre” Ryn Weaver

“Farewell Wanderlust” The Amazing Devil

“Welcome Home, Son” Radical Face

“Hell’s Coming With Me” Poor Man’s Poison

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The original pride flag and the sewing machine it was sewn on

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i know the only way out is through. i know this heavy. my body still remembers the sensation of my baby teeth. a natural lover, she reminds me: after you lose things, the emptiness will be a smooth and bloodied place. be careful and bite gently.

the only way out is through. but i want to be out already. i want to be basking on the top of the mountain with the sun shifting her warm fingers over my stomach. i want to breathe deeply without feeling my chest tighten. i want to say don't worry, i've got it and mean it. i want to have my life behind me, evergreen, full of laughter and music and dancing. strong and friendly. this thing i have right now - this haggard, unkempt sapling - i want it to be whole, already. i am sick of dragging my wet misery behind me, a bleating lamb, a worried sheep.

i want to collect my life like a pair of mittens. not even something explosive, raucous. just the certainty: my home is warm and it's all been worth it.

[starspouredoutintohearts]

Exactly, this,.

“I cannot comprehend the difference between romantic and platonic love. My love does not dry up, it overflows and envelopes all within my reach. Time does not let my love dissipate, but I change over the years. I can love someone so dearly but want a different life for myself. Why can’t we stay friends with our ex’s? I want to grab coffee, check in and see how you’re doing, don’t you miss my cats? Not everyone’s brain is broken in the same way mine is, so this is inappropriate. To you, I broke your heart, I gave up on you. To me, I worked and worked to make things work, I gave you every opportunity to fix things, and as much as I love you, I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stay for empty promises that were too often broken. I don’t blame you for anything. I knew you were hurting but I couldn’t take care of you anymore, I had to take care of myself. I cannot blame you for not growing at the same rate in the same ways I did. Three years changed us both tremendously. But for three years, you were my everything. My first thought in the morning and my goodnight kiss. Memories of inside jokes still ring in my skull and now just make me sad. I wish breaking up with you didn’t have to mean losing my best friend.”

— Best Friend//Grazia Curcuru

[starspouredoutintohearts]

“HOW TO BE THE GIRL HE WANTS: the first time someone tells you these words I hope you stick out your hand and catch the letters in the air I hope you crunch them in your fist I hope you shove them back into the mouth they flew out of I hope and pray you are not eight years old and hanging off of a shopping cart and groaning about how bored you are, I hope you were not young like I was the first time I read a magazine on a shelf underneath the candy I hope you weren’t young because I still thought everything I read had to be true - but better yet, I hope these words never find you. They tell you to be strong but it’s the little things like this that sit on our hips and tangle in our hair and feel like bees when the night gets dark. It’s the little things we could never ever shake off because the minute we tried, we discovered there were more waiting for us. HOW TO LOOK GOOD FOR SUMMER: smile more often. I hope the first time someone calls you fat, you shimmy your shoulders and wink and feel like a goddess and take it as a compliment. I hope you are not the new kid in a fifth-grade class, glasses on your nose and your hair in tangles. I hope nobody ever touched your tummy and asked if you were embarrassed by the way it jiggles. I hope if you ever hear those words, you reach out your beautiful fingers and touch the temple of the person talking and ask, “Are you embarrassed your brain works like that?” See, I have not gained weight since the eight grade and I’m twenty. I have had about four hundred people tell me I’m skinny but it’s only the two or three voices about the thickness of my thighs and the fat on my hips - these are the only voices that stick. Don’t give them that satisfaction. Take a bath. Stare at your reflection. Count the flecks beside your iris. Promise yourself you’re not going to ruin your life - you won’t let them win. Don’t let that moment cause ripples. Yank out the cruelty from your system. HOW TO HAVE BETTER SEX: stop faking it. Stop engineering your body to be a call-and-response of bruises and shots. I hope you are not fifteen the first time a boy kisses you hard. I hope you do not go home with a bloody mouth and spend the rest of your life thinking love is stained with iron. I hope you are not swallowing your sanity to be with somebody. I hope the first time you let someone touch you, they are someone worthy of your trust - I hope that nobody tries to force you into a label like “frigid” or “slut.” In the animal world, most males have bright plumage so they can attract mates. In humans, we expect ladies to look a certain way. When you break out of the norm, suddenly you’re rattling chains. How dare you not want sex and still look this way. Maybe people are scared of admitting your body has power - it can turn heads in a baggy sweatshirt. Your body doesn’t need a magazine’s confirmation. Your body’s been through hell and still keeps on living. Put on your heels and stalk down the sidewalk. Take off your makeup. Do what you need to feel awesome. HOW TO BE COMFORTABLE IN YOUR OWN SKIN: ignore everything they tell you. Don’t let them in.”

— Maybe one day I’ll make a list of every single terrible magazine I’ve read. I think I’m gonna start an advice column called “If it makes them money, it’s probably not good.” /// r.i.d

[starspouredoutintohearts]

°I want to express things and I know it'll make me feel better. But most times I'm not able to. I'm not able to, I don't want to, it doesn't come out, just whatever variation of that. I want to say things are alright and things will be okay and I know they are and will. But that's the problem, you know? Then why do I feel the backs of my eyelids starting to get wet? If I know this then why does it feel like somebody has knotted up multiple balls of yarn together and stuck them deep in my chest, except all that thread is made up of my thoughts and feelings. Am I in a state of anoesis that is going to stay a while, and has stayed a while? If I know everything's okay, then why does it *feel* like it's not? There's multiple things that could go wrong but now I'm not trying. I'm just. I feel like, for the past few years I've been walking non-stop. Just walking and walking and walking. So it superficially feels like I'm going forward. But the more and longer I walked, a little bit of me faded away. Became soft, transparent smoke and just vanished in thin air as I kept walking. Sometimes when people ask me if I'm okay, I want to look behind; as if I'll find someone standing there who knows me and is better equipped to talk about me than I am about myself, and I almost want them to respond for me instead. My words are heavy, my sentences are clunky, my actions are dilute and my steps are infinitesimal. So honestly? I don't know how I'm still alive. But I am. I keep saying I'm trying. Because some people don't believe me, and believe that I mess up, continually. So I've said it so many damn times, that now I'm thinking, am I really? Though? Ever been asked a question so many times and looked at, in the same way so many times that you have an answer or a response readily prepared? And one day, when somebody asks you that same question, or gives you that same look, you go blank, and you think, what do these words mean? And you don't know if they're true anymore, when in fact, they have no reason not to be. Will you do me a favour tonight? Will you pray that I am able to take care of myself? Thank you my loves. Copyright Tangentialpisatel 2021© https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ9rvHrJ0ZU/?igshid=1sv2n676jbk9j

[starspouredoutintohearts]

cuddle

[starspouredoutintohearts]

cuteeeeeee