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I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can't find the right words.
— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer, c. November 1912
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I can never find the right words to tell people what I’m thinking. Telling them I’m tired doesn’t work, but I can’t seem to vocalize that I’m mentally exhausted and sick of existing. Telling them I’m sad doesn’t work either, but I can’t explain that I’m struggling not to kill myself and that the joy in everything in my life is gone and when I wake up to the sun in my eyes, I have to struggle to get myself out of bed because most of me didn’t even want to wake up at all. I can’t tell them I’m numb because what I’m feeling is so much more complex than numb and I don’t have the vocabulary to tell them that I feel like I’m drowning and it terrifies me that I feel nothing as it’s happening, and that my insides want to scream but I can’t even find it in me to shed a tear anymore, that every single aspect of my life feels like it’s shaded in grey because all the colors were sucked out but I can hardly even remember what colors are because I can no longer remember a time I didn’t feel like this. No, I don’t know how to say that. So I just whisper “I’m fine.”
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My only relief is to sleep. When I'm sleeping, I'm not sad, I'm not angry, I'm not lonely, I'm nothing.
— Jillian Medoff, Hunger Point
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"Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. You're doing just fine."
— Charlotte Eriksson
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You’re not over exaggerating. You’re not too sensitive. You’re not too much. If it hurts you it fucking hurts you. If it makes you angry, then it makes you angry. There’s nothing wrong with you for feeling.
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Wanderer by @tiinatormanenphotography // Edited by MFL Cold vast emptiness but something so beautiful. Self-portrait series. Arctic Lapland wilderness, Finland. North 69°. 2015.
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