trashandwriting

[trashandwriting]

Sometimes it feels like everyone around me is speaking in a secret language and I'm the only one who doesn't know it.

[trashandwriting]

Sometimes it feels like everyone around me is speaking in a secret language and I'm the only one who doesn't know it.

[trashandwriting]

Ludwig II of Bavaria after building that sick ass castle

[trashandwriting]

[trashandwriting]

I LOVE reading people commenting posts about autism with "I am not autistic, but I experience this too!"

Buddy. PAL. Are you SURE. Maybe get a doctors appointment.

[trashandwriting]

thank u barbie for showing bi/lesbian solidarity

[trashandwriting]

It's so fucking funny how many people who owned Furbies as children ended up being traumatized by them in some way

[trashandwriting]

I don't create art to be perfect, I create it for it to be left behind. I write my diary so a great-granddaughter of mine can read through it and try to find herself in my words. I write books so people will find them in abandoned bookshelves and wonder why their loved ones read them. I write poetry so people will read them in my absence and wonder if this is how I see the world. I paint so my children's friends will ask why their house has such bizarre decorations, and for canvas to be found in dirty attics. And even if it all will burn and be forgotten one day: I left my footprint. I was here even after I couldn't hold a pen anymore. I was here for just a second longer.

[trashandwriting]

When I was a kid I was afraid of Goodbyes

but the older I got the easier they became. I went through dark times for some sloppy "what if"s, and it changed me. Now, when I have to move forward, I do not look back. I throw away everything, I let my life begin again. I do not mourn the past. I can't let it throw me down a pit again if I want to life.

[trashandwriting]

When I was a kid I was afraid of Goodbyes

but the older I got the easier they became. I went through dark times for some sloppy "what if"s, and it changed me. Now, when I have to move forward, I do not look back. I throw away everything, I let my life begin again. I do not mourn the past. I can't let it throw me down a pit again if I want to live. Time is in my favour as it does not stop.

[trashandwriting]

I'm always flabbergasted when people use Pinterest actually as some kind of asthetic social media to gather ideas for weddings and houses, when it has been my source for memes and fandom stuff and interesting facts and pop culture and art and philosophy and mental health stuff and history knowledge and political news since 2012.

[trashandwriting]

Good morning fellow autistic people, please remember at all times that neurotypicals can't relate to our struggles and view of the world because their brain functions in entirely different structures than ours. They aren't entitled to tell you if something should bother you or not. Have a nice day!

[trashandwriting]

Love is so big and small I can't even write about it. Like, my sister who is 15 years old is still holding onto my pinky finger when she holds my hand, just how like she did when she was a baby. How do I even put that in a poem. Its so obviously, plainly there

[trashandwriting]

“the war is over (the war is never over), so march on home, little soldier, and watch your back - when you talk to the dead, the dead talk back.”

— need a medic? | s. r. (via honesteve)

[trashandwriting]

I haven't been 15 in a while

but last week I decided to count calories again and immediately catched a virus that didn't let me eat for a week, so I stopped. Something is still watching over me and I'm getting better at catching the signs. I don't trip over hateful wires anymore, I just pick them up. The storm is gone, the fire is out. I am cleaning up the mess and try to decide what to do with an empty room.

I haven't been 15 in a while, but every year, Christmas comes around. And I buy a gift for my mom and sister, and I cry a little after opening presents. I find her again, in the living room photos, writing her diary, every year: December 23rd, and I try to remain positive, even when the same foul words burn into the paper everytime. But the past is a spiral, and it might take a few more years to get away from it far enough to smile into my eggnog.

I haven't been 15 in a while, but my fear still is. It flinches at loud words, and thing done wrong, that might never change. But at least I treat her kindly. And when I am cuddled up with my partner, she feels safe too, safer than when she clung to her teddy bear and felt alone in the world. Back when I thought monsters would come into the room at night.

I haven't been 15 in a while. I'm 22. I've discovered new colours to draw with in life. Sometimes they mix with hers, others cover her black layers. She will be with me for another while, I'll walk her down the road til she's ready to go. I haven't been her for a while. But she will be 15 forever.

[trashandwriting]

It's so fascinating and at the same time sad that there are things that you only know about when you grew up a girl. Like yes you can try to explain so others but words don't tell it the same way your memory does.

Just little things. How hating pink at some point never really was about the colour. The confusion when only boys are asked to move desks and chairs. The way you stand infront of you partner and think that you'd never have a chance against him. He never would be violent, but you wouldn't have a chance. Standing infront of a mirror and asking yourself if you have the energy to be looked at all day or if you should change into an oversized look. Being asked to be quiet. Being talked over. Not asking for a certain toy you'd enjoy because it's 'boyish'. Reading those boomer comics about how men hate their wives. Asking yourself why. Why, why? Why are you yelling, father, why are you so bitter, mom? Do I really want a child or do I become a prisoner with it? Growing up a girl is being held at gunpoint by social rules, but all you want to be is human. All you want to be is free.