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I don’t know if I’m mentally sick.
I just know that I’m really done with my emotional bullshit.
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Hanv-Iyxn/deviantART
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Simply love that look how much peace she reflect by the thoughts absence
it’s one of those days where nothing I say or do is right. I get screamed at that I don’t listen to what they’re saying. but when was the last time they stopped raising their voices every time I opened my mouth to talk? when was the last time they acknowledged what I was saying, actually listened to what I was saying.
sometimes I think they’re too busy trying to argue with me, and tear me apart at the seams, rather than actually hear what I have to say.
I have so much to say.
You'll always ache,
For a reason
Or the other.
So tread with patience,
This is all too new.
Be kind to yourself
Your heart is not ready
For another season of hurt and doom.
-simra.t
mall parking lot at 9ish 830 on New Years nothing going on there are many big parking lots nothing happening are yuo slaves the last month on calendar what day iz it hav u ever exed off a day what year quick not even a thingy u mean hunger fat kid skinny kid the dark it’s scary at night till morning light .. go drink in that box own a gun ladies or yuor a slave oh right well tomarrow maybe even next year .. nothing not even in the stores thanks giving should be in a buffet to me christmas family u put yuor family symbols on tree why … New Years up all night kinda around frends or even at party trying meet anew frend … love yuo yeah kuz decorations .. not 1 thing u eat drink an sleep in it though seasonal whats seasonal daddy uh chocolate I gess u need a candy bar looks like poop com run with us yo wer out side hm u got kicked out hu
Ver • ti • go
(noun)
1. Standing on a rooftop with you and your
daredevil smirk and unfaltering gaze; the
warmth of your hand as you took mine,
joy turning my world to a dizzying
kaleidoscope of scents and colours
2. Standing in an empty flat with pieces of you
and me scattered on the floor; feeling that
chasm opening inside me and knowing your
wouldn’t be here to catch me, not this time
(—Yushan C.)
living without knowing if you have a mental illness or not is really frustrating. going about your day feeling the things that are described when you look up your symptoms, but not knowing if you actually should seek professional help or if you are acting upon what others are saying. feeling empty and anxious and like your walking in a dream, but wondering if this is conditioned behavior or your real emotions, and not being able to talk to a professional because you are constantly told "you are fine there is nothing wrong with you" so you end up just drifting by not knowing what to do.
INKTOBER #14: Empty.
From death, life.
They stand before her, and they brandish their weapons callously, carelessly. She knows they mean to kill her – she’s of no use to them. “Don’t run and we’ll make it quick, little girl,” one of them says. “You can join your family.” She knows that he is lying. The world is open before her, and she knows all that may be known.
She can see the silence behind them, the darkness. Death. The void awaits.
The men smirk. They are empty of life and humanity, worn to blood, bone, and sharpened teeth by violence. They expect her to beg. They do not know.
She stands before them, small. Her spine is straight, and her head is high. She meets his eyes.
“No,” she says, and her voice is strong and clear. It is still a girl-child’s voice, but there is something more behind it.
He is taken aback, but something nasty quickly enters his eyes. “More fun for us then,” he tells the others.
“No,” she says again.
“I am not afraid to die.” She tells them, and there is a universe under her skin. She feels her life like a star in her chest, and death like tides in her blood.
They roar with laughter and start forward. They step with heavy feet on soil rich with death. They do not know.
The darkness is behind them, within them, between every atom in the air and in the earth. It is within her. The silence.
“I am not afraid to die,” she repeats, “but today is not my day to die. It is yours.”
The raucous laughter enters the air again, but she can see something like fear rising in the eyes of the wiser ones.
The time for words is over. The silence is here.
She closes her eyes - and breathes. Life is here, she thinks. Death is here, she thinks. Truth rings strong in the silence.
The darkness rises in her like the tides. The empty space between the stars is here, between the pieces of the universe. Void calls to void. The hungry dark will devour all. The shadows grow, and –
She opens her eyes, but there is nothing to see. The dark presses like a living thing against her skin, but she is not afraid. She is part of it, and it a part of her. There is no sound, because the dark and silence swallow all. But she can feel them. She can sense their light growing dim. Their fear grows, as the darkness within answers to the call of the darkness without.
She holds both death and life, light and dark, silence and sound, void and star – in her hands and in her heart. Her light does not fade as the darkness grows. There is no fear in her. She has already passed through the void and emerged.
The lights in the darkness are gone. The sense of nothing presses against her skin. She waits. She knows it is not yet done.
She waits, and the dark waits also, hungry. It is restless and chaotic, and it would consume her given the chance. She remembers the star in her chest. And waits.
And in the consuming darkness, the void of chaos and nothingness, something starts to grow. She smiles in the blackness, and breathes in, bringing air into her lungs where there was none. The light in her chest flares. Her star fills her whole self. The shadows recede. She blinks in the sunlight. There are no men in front of her. There are no more bodies in the streets. There is only rich black soil.
She steps forward and kneels, brushing the dirt away from a bright green seedling. Life.