Webweaving - Tumblr Posts
just thinking ab how we had just spent hours together, laughing and talking. I painted her nails, she held me in her arms and brushed her fingers through my hair. She stayed at my house so long, it was nearly midnight on a school night. She kept ignoring her mothers calls just to spend more time with me. As we walked down the stairs when she absolutely had to leave, she said “walk me out?” She just wanted to have one more moment with me, and one more, and one more. Always one more.
Love is so endlessly beautiful. Love is pushing back sleep just to spend another moment in your lovers arm. Love is walking your lover to their car so you get one last good look at their face.
I woke up the next morning. My pupils opened up toward the glow of the sun and I had lived to see another day. Just the night before, I had said my goodbyes. I had shed my last tear. I had made peace with my time in the world. But…my blood was still warm when I opened my eyes.
“You have been given another chance to live!” My sister wept. The words echoed in the back of my mind.
“But I don’t want to live.” I whispered. She never heard what I said.
Sometimes it hits me right in the face just how lonely I am. I am so lonely. Do you know how it feels? To exist in a world where you know that nobody knows you closely, not even a little bit? To know that if you died today, nobody would know what your favorite movie was or what your favorite song was or how you like your tea? Do you really know how it feels? To watch your friends spend their weekends together, laughing and going out, while you sit in your room rotting away? To eat dinner alone every lonesome night while you hear the echoes of your family in the dining room? I am isolated, so othered. It is not just that I am lonely. I no longer feel like a person, I feel as though I do not exist. Each day it feels as though I am being erased. I am the only one who can preserve me. I am the only one who can remember my favorite movie and my favorite song and how I like my tea. If I forget those details, they are gone. I exist only within the realm of myself. If I am removed from the equation, I do not exist. Do you understand? Do you really, truly get it?
I am seventeen and spending Thanksgiving all alone. I am the loneliest girl in the world.
thanksgiving 2006 by Ocean Vuong
I could cry. I love my coach so much. I cherish her presence in my life. She is likely unaware of the ways in which she elevates my life, but she really means so much to me. I have never before felt like someone truly believed in me or saw me as being a strong, capable person. She believes those things about me. She makes me believe them too. It is so special to have a person like that in my life. Someone who holds me to a high standard, who gives me the space and guidance I need to rise to those higher levels. Someone who speaks to me warmly and looks me in the eye when she talks to me. Someone who humanizes me, who removes me from being an outsider and brings me in toward a family. I truly feel such a magnetic, deep love for her. I am so grateful for the fact that she’s been gifted to me, placed in my life. It’s moments like this where I think that maybe someone is watching out for me, maybe angels are real. Love is carrying me through, connections are guiding me toward a deeper joy.
Saw this and had to share. I feel the same way. Queer friendships are as close to divinity and holiness as I have ever gotten and will ever get. What a gift it is to have that community
I keep having this moment and it feels so light and airy and special. It feels like a sigh of relief, like that moment when you lay down in bed after a long day and feel your muscles exhale. Last year, on my way home for Christmas, I was begging my parents to get me help because I felt so suicidal and burdened with depression. This year, after a suicide attempt and long recovery, I finally feel happy. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but at some point, lightness slipped back into my mind and made its home there. I can’t help but be brought to tears at the beauty of it all. I’m still here. I’m still here. Against my will. I fought hard to leave and some part of me saved me. Something in me kept me alive and brought me to this moment. To this joy. To this peace. I am grateful for that now, though there was a point in my life where I wouldn’t have been. It is truly a miracle that I survived and I feel that in every molecule of my body.
The current trend where people post a picture of their current self and a picture of their younger self with the lyrics “I’m so sorry that they pick you last” is bringing up a lot for me. It’s so grueling to look back and think “I could have saved you. Who I am now could have saved who I was then. None of this had to happen.” But of course, it’s a never ending loop. Who I am now only exists because of who I was then, so I could not have saved who I was then without going through everything it took to get to who I am now. Anyway, I thought-spiraled into going through all of my old messages, going as far back as to middle school. It is so heartbreaking to see how truly cruel people were to me. I was so lonely and all I wanted was for people to love me. I tried so hard to get their love. My messages were lengthy, bubbly and cheery. I cared about people, I asked them questions and tried to get to know them, to let them know that I was interested in their lives and who they were. At the time, I had to believe that they were my friends. That they loved me. I needed to believe it. But looking back, I can see how much those things were not true. They would respond with short, rude, cold, uninterested messages. They would never contact me without being contacted first. It almost even appears that they were manipulating my kindness, profiting off of how desperate for love I was. They seemed to be making fun of me, silently laughing at my attempts to receive their love and care. I just feel so bad for my younger self. I feel bad about the world. It makes me deeply sad that such a pure girl who was just trying to be kind and connect with others was met by people who were careless with her heart and abusive of her compassion. I wish I could’ve been there. I wish I could’ve offered her a heart that matched her own.
I am more my father’s child than my mother’s daughter. I wish I could say the opposite, but it would not be true. I am clenched fists with nails digging into my skin. I am marked with scars inflicted by my own hands. I am shaking with anger. I have sharp teeth and I bite. If you tried to get close to me, I would run. I am my father’s child. I have his nose and his eyes and his anger that is too big for my heart to hold.
I started reading self help books when I was about twelve years old. I spent all of my free time reading, researching, making lists. I could have titled my lists in many different ways: “Ways to Be a Better Person,” “Things I Need to Work on,” “How to Make Myself Better.” They all meant the same thing. They mean the same thing I mean now when I cry over my reflection in the mirror and journal about all of the mistakes I’ve made in this life. I’ve always wanted to fix myself. I’ve always wanted to be more than I am.
do you ever meet someone and they tell you about the things they’ve struggled with in the past and you’re just like … damn. I wish I would’ve been there when you were little. I could’ve saved you. You know…I could have kissed the bruises on your back…yadda yadda yadda
AREN'T STARS MEANT TO BURN?; ON SELF-DESTRUCTION (FOR ACHIEVEMENT'S SAKE)
friedrich nietzsche // would that i, hozier // meditation on the threshold: a bilingual anthology of poetry, ‘monologue of a foreign woman’ by rosario castellanos // boyish, japanese breakfast // nineteen, movements // angel on fire, halsey // nata sin // vincent van gogh // notes from underground, fyodor dostoevsky // holly warburton // joan crawford // unknown, pinterest // first fig, edna st. vincent millay // Clementine von Radics // holly warburton // forugh farrokhzad, tr. by hasan javadi & susan sallée // she knows, j. cole // @/ragingantisocial // some kind of perfect, krista ritchie and becca ritchie // holly warburton // burned out, dodie // unknown, pinterest // a moth to a flame (burnt child), stig dagerman, tr. by benjamin mier-cruz // unknown
THE SUN COMES UP AGAIN // LIVING DESPITE IT ALL
Anne Lamott Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life // José Saramago Cain // Kill Your Darlings (2013) dir. John Krokidas // Katie Maria The Memory of a Memory // Cheryl Strayed Tiny Beautiful Things // Undertale (2015) cr. Toby Fox // pinterest // SEVENTEEN: HIT THE ROAD episode 10 A Time To Face Myself (via @kwonhochi) // pinterest // カウボーイビバップ Cowboy Bebop (1988-1999) cr. Hajime Yatate // pinterest // pinterest // Mary Oliver For Example
on self-love
?// @heavensghost // @roach-works //Richard Bach //?// @bakwaaas // @llleighsmith // Clarice Lispector// Anonymous
- love in the mundane
warsh_tippy and zelda- whatever, dad/ minari/ new years day- taylor swift/ @death-born-aphrodite/ stay, stay, stay- taylor swift/ everything, everywhere, all at once/ i will- mitski/ @death-born-aphrodite/ fleabag/ sweet nothing- taylor swift
robb moodboard (sad edition)
