©
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
by Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (via observando)

(via karithenelizabeth)

aseaofquotes:

Mary Oliver, “In Blackwater Woods”
Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.
by The Little Prince  (via laurenarlene)

(Source: psych-facts, via pureblyss)

kushandwizdom:

Good Vibes HERE
Can we stop waiting
for the life we want to live,
and live it instead?
by Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via explore-everywhere)

(via coffeeinthemountains)

She wears all black
just like her soul
yet her heart is made of gold.
by (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

(Source: larkspuraster, via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

People who believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.
by Neil Gaiman (via kvtes)

(Source: hellanne, via kvtes)

officialrichardnixon:

facts that cannot be disputed

  • ur cute as heck
  • ur very important
  • ur laugh is really cute oh my god
  • ur a perfect version of yourself

(via asmaragin)

Depression is hard to understand, because it is not a consistent state. Depression is rather like a virus, but like a virus, it has its manageable days and its acute, life-threatening flare-ups. You can be in a depression and still laugh at a friend’s joke or have a good night at dinner or manage low-level functioning. You grocery shop and stop to pet a puppy on the corner, talk to friends in a café, maybe write something you don’t hate. When this happens, you might examine your day for clues like reading tea leaves in a cup: Was it the egg for breakfast that made the difference? The three-mile run? You think, well, maybe this thing has moved on now. And you make no sudden moves for fear of attracting its abusive attention again.

But other times…

Other times, it’s as if a hole is opening inside you, wider and wider, pressing against your lungs, pushing your internal organs into unnatural places, and you cannot draw a true breath. You are breaking inside, slowly, and everything that keeps you tethered to your life, all of your normal responses, is being sucked through the hole like an airlock emptying into space. These are the times Holly Golightly called the Mean Reds.

I call it White Knuckling it.


by

Miles and Miles of No Man’s Land, Libba Bray (via babybirched)

"But the stigma of depression is that it comes with the sense that you shouldn’t have it to begin with. That it is self-indulgence or emotional incompetence rather than actual illness."

(via sonchorizos)

whoa.

(via keeperofthehouse)

When it’s White Knuckle Time, you will have to remind yourself to stand in the middle of the subway platform, well away from the edge.”

There is an undertow to depression. It doesn’t take you all at once. It leaves you with some false sense that you are coping. That you are in control. That you have the shore still well in sight, until, at some point, you raise your head to find yourself all alone, battered by rough seas with absolutely no idea which way you should swim.”

 

Jesus, every damn word of this post. It’s remarkable.

(via foulmouthedliberty)

I can identify with this far too well.

(via abaldwin360)

(via asmaragin)