(Source: lovequotesrus)
(via nutellashots)
. (by neon.tambourine)
maybe staying home away from work today was a bad choice. it did no good to lie around at home today and mope about what a screw up I have been so far, and about the time and energy and money I had wasted these 2 years. it did no good to stop the brimming of tears in my eyes from time to time. I just stayed home cause I didn’t wanna cry at work. my idea of hope is warped. my idea of hope is indulging in the irrational prediction that maybe all the people I hate will melt away in their lives too. in my mind I’ve killed so many people, but in my mind I’ve been convicted of killing that one or a few people so many times over and over and over.
feel that maybe it’s only right to grieve over this mess till everything has been settled and I can finally put my mind to rest. there always seems to be this small voice in my head (not very small actually given that the voice actually sounds like that of my mother’s) that’s asking me “what’s there to be so happy about when you have screwed up so bad?”
“she’s living in her own world”
and there’s always that small rueful voice bemoaning the difference between me and other kids. and lamenting all my inadequacies and short-comings, and how I am not even fit to be a human being.
oh well, slipping precipitately into this abyss of grieve and deprecation. what’s new?
(via cutesecrets)
(Source: fairycastle, via allthingselegant)
“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” — Homer, The Iliad (via obliviate-)
(Source: itsfromabook, via cosmicallybeautiful)
(Source: spaced--0ut, via cutesecrets)
I am every bit human, then again I am every bit not. That thin line that separates the sane from the insane, the controlled from the unrestrained, the fearful from the fearless. I traverse and toe that line every single day, in my thoughts, in my actions, in my words I speak. With every beating of my heart I think about that line. I peer at it and wonder how wire thin it is, it is almost almost invisible. But not quite.
It feels like I am perfectly capable of being insane, and my abhoration for the rest of humanity who does not feel insane sometimes simply makes me want to stretch my chances abit more. Aren’t we all perfectly capable of queer, strange and seemingly impossible thoughts? Aren’t we all capable of thinking things we would never ever speak for fear of dying from embarrassment, and for the conpulsion to maintain a certain standard of socially perceived dignity and for fear of inciting a furor in the recipient who holds onto those standards of socially perceived dignity which is actually the normal flux of events and disposition? But what is it like to be in true madness? To be truly insane? To lose yourself altogether, but also to gain yourself at the same time? To truly embrace yourself for who you are, to speak and think without being restrained? I sound like an extreme libel teetering on the point of being an anarchist. But oh who can resist such titillation? What is it like to be completely and encompass the total entirety of the word - free.
I am only human when I think such thoughts. I am truly 100% human, but then again I am every bit not. This statement is as puzzling as it is ironic.
Only after we’ve lost ourselves can we be truly free.
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
(via speedlight)