"That's how depression hits. You wake up one morning afraid that you're going to live."

RantRantRant.

I wish I could have a break down every month in my house, on the couch in the lounge while the suns out and not feel embarrassed about it. I wish I could just explode, have tantrums, shout and scream, break glasses and plates, spill blood. I just want to act like a teenager and not worry what others think. I don’t want to act like nothings wrong. It’s just a phase right?

But it can’t be a phase if I never break loose. 

Since I could remember: I never had a tantrum, I never broke a glass or plate on purpose. I never raised my voice to anyone. I never tried to harm myself.

Let me - god, just let me be.

"Holding hands may seem like an innocent gesture, but they show more than a simple interlocking of fingers. Your hands are one of the most essential parts of your body: you build with them, feed with them, hold with them, touch with them, fight with them; they are the tools of the human body. To take a hold of another’s hand is to break from living individually. It is to link yourself to another being, to momentarily entwine your life with another’s, to promise, for a moment, that you need not face the world alone. More simple, more aesthetically naive than other forms of affection, i.e kissing, hugging, sexing, the act of holding hands is often trivialized in its true implications. As the Beatles once said: 


”All I want to do is hold your hand.”

But you write such pretty words. But love is no storybook. Love is an excuse to get hurt and to hurt.


"Do you like to hurt?"

"I do. I do."

"Then hurt me."

Love Language.

Movie night

I watched the Zoolander last night and you know that part when Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson tries to put the computer on by hitting it and acting like apes? That’s the way my dad does it. C:

I miss a lot of things. This is one of them. Don't worry love, I'm here now.

When the light spreads into darkness, or when the earth crumbles beneath our beings, when nothing works and all else fails and the only person standing there is you, with your heart hanging loosely on your sleeve, standing on waves ends, ankles wrapped around waterfalls with nothing but a toothy grin and open hands and your own cup of reality, ready to pour above my head just before I get too deep, the sun would split life and death into two and I would be stuck with a name. There won’t be a You or Me. Or an Everyone In Between. And we won’t live hands-tied-to-hands-with-burnt-cigarettes together.

Because there’s only You and Me when darkness has overcome light.