#postitforlove

[anxiouswritersworld]

For anyone struggling, I know that at some point words ain’t enough but still. Just know you’re not alone, and yeah you’re too young to be that sad, but you’ll deal with it cause you have the whole Tumblr community with you. I send you all my love and support sincerely. I hope, I know, that you’re gonna be okay. And if you’re not right now that's okay, it’s okay not to be okay. You don’t have to be perfect, you don’t have to please others, that’s not what life is about. Life is about being your most beautiful self. Be beaming, radiant, be strong and faithful, be kind and gentle. Be better, be greater, smarter but most of all be happier. “I walk slowly, but I never walk backward” A.Lincoln #Postitforlove

[inkdesigner]

Imagine with my daughter

[spontaneousways]

The story of my life. Here is me drawing my life. Be sure to #postitforward to help someone else going through a hard time. It you ever need to talk me my instagram is steph_rennn and my youtube channel www.youtube.com/stephrennn my tumblr blog name is spontaneousways

[healthyfatsblog-blog]

all i see is love and you - You’re a beautiful gift to us all, YOUUUUUUU are!

[knowbyheart22]

THE PRIVILEGE OF A LIFETIME IS BEING WHO YOU ARE.

Our world can be a cruel place. It can take your smile away and make you question everything you’ve come to know. If you’re “different”, it has a way of secluding you and making you feel alone. 

I know this because I’ve been through it. I have felt alone, empty, insecure, sad, angry and out of place. For years I felt so alone and wanted nothing more than just to belong. I wanted to go through one day without being bullied and being let down. I was alone and kept everything to myself. I slowly lost myself trying to be someone they wanted me to be. This was purely out of survival and in due time I forgot who I actually was. 

Recently I have come to understand that all the things that made me “different” were also the qualities that made me unique. 

Long story short, I want you to know that you’re never alone. There is so much love and beauty in this world, just trust in yourself. Be yourself and embrace your differences and I promise you will glow and attract all the love in world. 

I love you

[tinkerbelldetective]

Post it for love: YOU ARE LOVED. 

[bemoreamerica]

I’m posting it for compassion! We all come from very different walks of life and it’s not always easy to understand where others are coming from! So, here’s to a little bit of compassion towards ourselves and others for a more fulfilling, loving, and respecting life :) #Humanity #BeMore #Vision2040

[syntacticsymphony]

#postitforheartbreak

Why do we view breakups and unrequited love as such a bad thing? You loved someone? Good. You learned to trust? Good. You felt cherished, heard, respected, worthwhile? Good. You communicated your feelings, thoughts, frustrations, hopes, dreams? Good. You let yourself believe good things can happen? Good. You put the needs of someone else above your own? Good. You found happiness in the happiness of another? Good. You discovered that not all wounds are visible? Good. You realized that not all promises are made to be broken...but sometimes are anyway? Good. We need to stop looking down on heartbreak and remember that all it really means is that something even better will follow.

[inkdesigner]

#doodle s day - #blooming

[reluctantrenegade808]

Beauty

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I’ve heard it said, And I believe it true. We see that which we look for, Not what is really true.

An ugly heart ugliness sees, And seeing sees itself. A beauteous heart beauty sees, Reveals itself as true.

So see yourself with beauty’s eyes And see all else in light likewise. Let not a shadow darken heart

Or darken eyes with gall.

[wearenotmeaningless-x]

Three years ago, almost to the date my best friend, and other half was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer; not to mention my boyfriend of three years broke up with me that day also, after i had told him. But no matter what, it was way too late and she was going to die from this. I was 17, months away from starting my senior year of high school and I felt like my entire life was about to fall apart at any second. I didn't know how much longer I had, I honestly didn't even want to think about it. I had to be strong, at least around my Nana. I cried every night, I didn't go out much, I isolated myself from everyone including my family. I'd leave family events early because I just couldn't come to terms that, maybe next year my grandmother wouldn't be sitting there with us. She and my grandfather (papa) raised me for the first 4-5 years of my life. Every school break I was at their house, my Nana was my best friend, Role model and the one I looked up to most. She was there through literally everything, including me getting pregnant and having a miscarriage at the age of fifteen. Everty thing seemed to be going fine, chemo was working, the lympnodes weren't growing; in fact they were shrinking. year later, right before I graduated she was care flighted to Saint Mary's because she had fell in her bathroom while trying to take a shower. I thought my world was about to spiral out of control and I contemplated dropping out multiple times. All I wanted to do was be there for her and help her with whatever she needed. She went home about 8 days later, just to be care flighted again July 13, 2013 where she stayed in the hospital until she passed July 24, 2013. During this time I was in training to ship out to basic training for the military (Army), I was SUPPOSED to leave August 13, 2013 to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri. on July 21, I had just gotten to the hospital to see my Nana before I went to work for the day to find she wasn't in her room. My heart started racing. Did I not get to say goodbye? Where was she? So many thoughts were going through my mind at once. Finally a nurse came in and told us my Nana had a stroke earlier that night and that we should tart saying our goodbyes because it wouldn't be long before she was gone. I didn't go to work that day, I quit. Everyone was pissed, I didn't care. I couldn't leave that hospital. We got to see her awake for about the next hour or so, I kept telling her it's not goodbye, it's see you later, I had to try with all my might not to cry in front of her because even though she was the one with cancer running through her entire body at this point she was the one holding this family together. Once she was put into an induced coma, all I did was cry and hold her hand, I couldn't find the words to tell her how much I was going to miss her, but rhat it was okay for her to let go, I just wasn't ready to say goodbye. I Spent the next three days in that hospital, I didn't leave once. She passed away around 2 am July 24, 2013 holding my hand. My papa and I were the only two in the room, nurses came in and checked everything out, made sure she was actually gone before confirming the T.O.D. I couldn't believe this time had come so soon, eighteen years just didn't seem like enough time to spend with someone that practically raised you from the time you were born until the time you graduated high school. Two weeks later I was supposed to ship out, I didn't. I tore my quad and was disharged. Nothing seemed to get easier, it just lept getting more and more fucked up. I got a job, moved out of my moms, started collged, I also started doing anything to numb my body and take away the pain, anything to keep my mind off of it I would do. I started drinking exsessively, smoking pot and having sex.....A LOT. The pain never really went away, that was until I met the one person who let me open up entirely to them. I couldn't talk to my mom, she said she had it was worse than anyone and didn't really care how my little sister and I were feeling about the whole situation because it was all about her at the time. Stephen gave me a shoulder to cry on, and and ear to listen. He never once told me I was overreacting, or told me to suck it up. He was one of the only people that helped me through the healing process, he let me yell, cry, scream, hit but most of all he loved me and told me that no matter what it would be okay because I had him. To this day, we talk about it a lot, I miss my Nana more than anything in the entire world. But what I have learned is that you don't need to run away from your problems, insecurities, fears or what have you. Someone, no matter who that someone is, they will always be there for you. Even if you absolutely hated this person at one point, like my bf, someone will be there to listen, they won't judge you, they'll be there to hold you and comfort you as long as they possibly can. Things may not seem like they will ever get easier, you'll have good days and bad days, but as long as you take it one day at a time, things start looking up and you start to realize that there can't be a rainbow without a little rain. It's been almost two years since my Nana passed and I still think about my her every single day; I wonder what we would be doing at that exact moment during the day if she were still here. We'd probably be on the beach somewhere in California soaking in the sun, having the time of our lives like we did every year around my birthday, which was yesterday. That's what's keeping me going day in and day out, memories last a life time and I have enough to last me until I'm up in the sky dancing around with her. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her or think about her, but knowing she is no longer in pain makes it a little bit easier, but those last three days are still stuck on replay in my head. It's literally all I think about... but through all of this, I gained a guardian angel that will always be looking out for me and I strive every single day to make that woman proud. She touched the lives of each and every person. She came into contact with. I hope I become at least half the woman she was. She was an inspiration to all. If anyone ever, ever, ever needs anyone to talk to my ask is always open. Dealing with loss is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, and you don't ever have to be alone. ♡

[fragilelinesandwastedtime-b-blog]

My Thoughts on Suicide

Jordan P. Quinn 

October 20, 2014 

Suicide a short expose on the finer things in life It’s always been funny to me, that we are put on this Earth with but only one purpose: Live life. This is funny to me because of the often unfortunate predisposition to hate the idea of living your life. Shockingly, some of us never grow out of the ‘I hate my life’ (meant to be read as if you were a pouting pre-teen stomping your foot and yelling into your sweet mother’s face) phase. Instead, we extrapolate the aforementioned ‘I hate my life’ phase into the ‘I hate my life’ (meant to be read as if you were penning the final words of your suicide letter in calligraphy flowing from a quill pen because your level of self-hatred deserves that kind of soul shivering angst) phase. The vast majority of you will carry on casually as the pouting pre-teen for the remainder of your existence, lamenting your lot in life only when it is convenient and only when you have an audience there to tell you how tragic your existence truly is. Then, you and your audience will share a mutually affectionate warm embrace and spend the rest of your night in the kind of euphoria only a group sing along of ‘Kumbuya’ can produce, wondering why you ever questioned the point of it all in the first place. My heart goes out to you, singers of Kumbuya. You are blessed people. You are also sickeningly positive and should probably read a fucking book and grow a sense of reality. Then, there is the remaining minority. Those of us who lament our existence in private. Who live our lives simply because it was predetermined that we should live them, not because we want to. Some of us carry on for friends or for family or for work or for that cute girl who smiles at you when you finish checking out your groceries or for your dog or insert whatever other small facet of your pathetic existence allows you to justify another day of drawing breath. But that is all we do, we carry on. We just exist. We do not live. That is an important distinction. We all (majority and minority alike) partake in the tale of life. Much like the game of Life (copyright, Hasbro or whoever else poisoned our childhoods with false idealifications), the tale of Life is long and winding and probably pointless and somewhere along the way you will get married and have 2.5 kids with a white picket fence and some designer dog breed that will be superior to your neighbor’s designer dog breed which you will banter about at block parties after which you will go home and have mediocre, slightly intoxicated sex with your partner. Both the majority and minority mentioned above, who together compose about 98.6-99.5% of humanity, will engage in the cycle above. Though, as our endeavors with the board game show us, there are varying levels of success to be had within this winding and probably pointless life. The remaining .5-1.4% of humans, the truly empty souls who have deprived themselves and those around them the right to exist, those are the unsung heroes of this story. It is estimated that .5-1.4% of humans commit suicide. It is the 10th leading cause of death in the world, putting us right up there with such winners as diarrhea in developing countries and renal failure. Within my age group (18-24, the undisputed cesspool of cynicism, angst, and bad fashion choices) it is the 3rd leading cause of death. My hypothesis as to why this is such a devastating plague amongst the youths of society: take an already self conscious, probably barely post-pubescent human. Uproot them from home. Put them in college. Multiply stress by roughly 10. Give most of them an STI because college kids are stupid. Expose them to an environment where roughly 39% of them binge drink. Add 15 pounds onto their already self conscious frame. Develop or expose a previously well hidden case of Depression/BPD/MPD/Schizophrenia/Anxiety. Find your preferred method. Use it. Die. Die. Die. Die. Dead. Now you are dead. However, your friends family colleagues that cute girl who smiles at you when you finish checking out your groceries your dog they are not dead they are very much alive and they are left with an atom-bomb-sized void in their life because of you. But what do you care? You’re dead. You are the unsung hero of your own tale of life because you, and only you, had the strength to end a life. You ended the most despicable life you could imagine. You are proud of yourself. You feel light, for once. The biggest misconception about suicide across all age groups and all demographics and all of society is that it is the easy way out. That it is somehow an excuse like showing up late to class because your dog ate your homework or because you had more pressing bills to pay or because she was drunk and it seemed like she liked it at the time but it isn’t an excuse like any of these things. It is an answer. Suicide takes more strength than almost anything. We are programmed to have a desire to live. The list of people places and things in our lives I have repeated multiple times that will be left empty because of us because of you it means nothing. No amount of love they could impose upon you could make you love yourself. Your self hatred, something you create and something you feel and breathe and live and let live overpowers everything around you. You are blind to it. To create something that overwhelming, to channel it to overcome our most primal desire to survive, that is strength. That is power. I do not think suicide is the right answer. I think it is an answer. It was almost mine on more than one occasion. It took me giving up everything that ever meant something to me to see that the love I was ignoring and the feelings I had and the potential within me was worth something more than 6 feet of dirt. I was not strong enough for suicide. I am too weak on my own to live. But I am bolstered by the love from those around me. I am bolstered by the emotions I have buried for years. I am bolstered by the fact that I know I am worth something now. Those are the finer things in life. The things that make you realize that you can proceed through this winding and pointless tale of life like it was predetermined that you should do. You have absolutely no say in how when where or why you come into being. But you do have some say in how when where and why you make an impact and how when where where and why you die. I wish on nobody the strength to take their own life. I wish for everybody the ability to see that they are weak without accepting things as they are. Without embracing what life we have left to live. Live. Live. Live. Lived.

[kitten-nip]

Post it for love. These last few days the subject of all kinds of love has come up in my hose-hold. I’m not one to tell people what they should do but I defiantly think everyone should go out and find the one they love. And if you are afraid of letting the other person know, why? What if you never see them again? How would you tell that person you loved them? This is why I post if for love. 

[cpsycharts]

So I may be an author but I suck at openings.  Let me start this in a way I’m actually familiar with; On a brisk January day, the fifteenth at 3:40pm to be exact, a little girl came into this world, kicking, screaming, and red enough in the face to match her russet curls. She was named Amanda Lynn. From the moment she was born, she was the apple of her grandmother’s eye and was constantly teased by the family as ‘Oma’s Favourite’; not that the girl minded. She loved her oma just as much in return. It was her favourite place, a dated place. The house never grew out of the late 60′s in appeal and smelled of old cigarette smoke and coffee, a smell and an environment that the girl began calling home. 

Little did her Oma lead to know, the girl’s other ‘home’ was everything she wanted to escape from. Constant abuse by her father, her mother walking out on her early - so early in fact, that she wasn’t even into grade school when the divorce papers were being filed, in preschool, bullying from school, being an outcast that even the outcasts didn’t want or were embarrassed to know. Women in and out of her life. 

Needless to say, her life was far from stable. The longest a woman other than her Oma stayed in her life was her step-mom, Jennifer, who stuck around for 4 years tops.  The girl never stayed in one place for very long. Even in houses. Every few years or even every few months, her father would pack away her things in search for a new house, a new place she was again, forced to call home. With each move, the torture began to increase. Especially in 2001 when her dearest Oma was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. Her father locked himself away with a newly, never opened 24-pack of Bud Light, only to come out to scold the girl for no reason, verbalising how he wished she were dead, how she was a mistake and never would be wanted by anyone else and to throw away his empty box, just to drive and get more beer in a couple hours. The name escalated to slaps, slaps to punches, and punches to constant molestation.  There was a night when the girl was in kindergarten that would change her life for the next 16 years of her life. The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of light in the shadows of her bedroom. It was late and her skin pickled with fear. Something was going to happen. She just knew it, but, of course, ‘Daddy’ was coming in, so she was safe. It was the first night that the ritual began.  Without going into too much detail, the girl didn’t go into first grade a virgin. These nights lead on for years and only in 2004, when her beloved Oma died, they increased and got worse. She had seen down the barrel of the same gun for many days, prying her father from his drunken stupor, the gun from his hands. Her motions were never welcomed warmly. She was in the way. She was pushed around, alone. No one else to rely on.  Early into 8th grade, the girl opened up to a guidance counselor about her father’s assaults and lies. She was prompted to say in the guidance office and wait until a stranger from Children Services came to pick her up.  From 13 years old, she was bounced from house to house, hardly staying in one place for more than 6 months and keeping her things packed in boxes, waiting for another move.  At 15, she found a foster home to hold her place for 2 and a half years. For 15 years, she was assaulted, abused, and molested by many people that it was a surprise that she still had so much faith in herself. 

But to every story, there’s always a catch. The girl’s catch? Her childhood is told as stories from other people and not from her memory. She was often told that there were days that she hadn’t acted like herself - She was more immature, she was more mature, she was vicious, she snapped and slashed, she was cold, she didn’t talk. The poor thing wouldn’t remember these phases. She didn’t remember the phases and when she did, she couldn’t tell if they were memories or dreams.  When she turned 16, she was officially diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, a disorder that only affects about 2% of the human population, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, and Schizophrenia.  Eventually, the Schizophrenia was written off and the PTSD was manageable. When she opened up to people about her D.I.D (Dissociative Identity Disorder), she was greeted with sneers, how she was faking it, she was doing it for attention, when all she wanted was support and someone to tell her she wasn’t alone and she was loved and cared for - a comfort she had never gotten. She closed herself off, curled back into her tightly shut clam shell, and waiting for those wretched waves to take her back to where she belonged.  Now, at 22 years old, she sits here; surviving 4 suicide attempts, with a girlfriend who is more enamoured by her quirks and disorders than terrified, a best friend who had stuck with her and talked her from hanging herself twice, and a cat that might a well be her child.  If you haven’t guessed by now, this girl is me. I have survived 18 years of abuse. I’ve survived an engagement torn at the seams and blown apart. I’ve survived cuts deep enough to not stop bleeding and pain that would make the strongest buckle to their knees.  I am a survivor.  I learned my Oma knew everything that was going on at my father’s and discreetly took care of it in a way that any woman born in the 20′s, raised in the 30′s could do. She got me tested for STD’s, she took me any chance she had, even talked my father into keeping me for extra days when she could. I never knew this, but she was on the phone all the way until she died, always asking for me to be there. When the cancer took her sanity, I was still one of the few faces she could remember. I was her sunshine. And I always will be. For her. 

  Just because 2% of the human population deals with D.I.D, doesn’t mean you’re the only one. I’m here. There are other’s here. So many others. You’re loved. Not only by us by by the alters in your head as well, no matter what they say or do. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for and I can promise you that you’re stronger than your disorders, your problems. You’re stronger than your perpetrators, you’re stronger than your rapists, you’re stronger than your abuser, you’re stronger than those who tear you down. Don’t ever give up. Ever.  A quote from one of my favourite movies says; 

'But what we will never do is we will never, ever...ever, ever, ever, ever give up.Winston Churchill said that, I think.’ :)Hold on to those stars, to those dreams. You’ll make it. You’re the only one that can make it happen. 

[cecepompom]

Post it forward

Hi.

I started my tumblr thinking of all the things I had to say. And as usual, they stay in my head.

But post it forward was something that called to me and I couldn’t not participate.

My mum starting suffering from depression since I was 8 or 10. It was probably underlying before, but it all came to light after a big blowout with my father’s family.

She started withdrawing into herself, exploding at the weirdest times at my dad and as the only one who reacted in my family I was kind of caught in it. 20 years on and she is better, but she still has moments when things just go wrong.

I am always a very silent person, very withdrawn. That probably came from the fact that I am very akward, and people didn’t get me. I crave recognition. Not attention, not credit, not revards, just somebody to recognise me. So I get out of my way to be nice, to work the best I can.

And doing that I forget sometimes to be happy.

It took me a very long time for me to realise that the life I had was actually making me more miserable than happy. And as painfully shy as I was, and despite the panic I felt, I left my country and went to Ireland for a work placement.

8 years on and now most days I am happy. What changed was the people I met here. I ended in a company where the culture is mixed, with people coming from all over europe and a few from further down the road.

It took me a while to leave behind the sad shy person I was at 21. And at almost 30 well it is starting to be very good.

What changed was that people saw me for me. They didn’t know my past and I got to leave it behind and find who I was on my own.

I read a book called “the secret” and it helped so much. Yes it was the kind of things you would expect from a feel good book, but it helped start thinking in positives about me.

Somedays it is hard to remember that I am happy and that I have a good life and even more great things ahead of me. But then I think about all I have done and I just give me a little kick and to just put a smile on my face and take it all in.

My message would be to look at the little things in life that are good and bring them in. If that songs makes you forget for a few minutes about the worries you have then blast it on on repeat. Don’t let others get in your head, you are probably already there enough kicking yourself to the curb,

One thing very sappy but so true is that the more positive you think even on the darkest day, the more positive you get your life.

And on a day you don’t feel good, just smile to a stranger and say hello, the big smile you will get back will make you feel better. Because sometimes all you need is a smile. And when it’s not enough, a mini dance party to shake your endorphines and that should even for a few minutes.

So good luck, keep strong and remember that nobody but you can make you happy and that the smallest change should come from within you before trying to change other people views.

[inkdesigner]

#doodle a day - #letsgo l