theme by decembuh
❝Stop beating yourself up. You are a work in progress - which means you get there a little at a time, not all at once.
August 19 with 188,358 notes
❝Dear future child
If it’s 3am and you find yourself in a world of complete despair
Please do not turn to strangers on the internet for solace as I did
Please climb onto my bed
And I will hold you until the demons sleep
If it is Thursday morning and you are too sad to move
I won’t force you
I will buy ice cream and we will watch your favourite tv show and I will remind you of your importance
If you feel as if you have no purpose
I will remind you that you were created entirely with love and every pain you feel, I feel too
When you’re sure you can’t go on anymore
I will tell you that when I was 21 I searched for peace at the bottom of a vodka bottle chased by a bottle of pain killers
But that five years later
When you were placed in my arms in the delivery room
I realised that you were why I had been holding on
Without realising it, you saved me, do you know how amazing that is?
So if you ever feel like grabbing that vodka bottle, put it down, we will get in the car and I will drive until the sky turns magenta
I will show you how the sun rises every morning to encourage you to rise too
Sweetheart I refuse to be unaware of your sufferings
August 19 with 79,135 notes
August 19 with 140,800 notes - reblog
posted 6 hours ago on Tuesday
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It has never been easy. When I was sixteen, I knew every potentially fatal thing in my house: Nail polish remover under the sink. Bottle of rubbing alcohol beside it. Hammer in the tool box. Forty foot bridge across the highway. Traffic outside my window.

I thought about slamming my own head against a counter until I lost feeling. I thought about punching myself in the face until I stopped breathing. I thought about running out into the street at two a.m. and waiting until a car came.

I never thought I’d make it to twenty-five. But I told myself to stay. Just for a little longer. Just to see.

So I did. I sat silent amongst my friends, searching for a way to speak. I stopped leaving my house. I swapped sleeping for staying up all night, staring at my bedroom walls. When someone came into my room to talk to me, I started crying. But I stayed. Because I thought, if I plan on dying in a few years anyway, what do I have to lose? And some days I didn’t feel like I was being swallowed whole. Some days I sat by my pool and sang until the sun set. Some days I kissed somebody on their parent’s couch and didn’t feel lonely when I got to my own bed. Some days I listened to a really great song and felt understood, if only for a second.

I stayed. And still I thought about bridges. And hammers to the head. And swallowing acetone to cleanse my insides. But slowly slowly slowly I began to understand that it was okay to cry, and shake, and feel anything but okay. I realized that there would still be days that my fist would rise to my cheek. And still, my face would sometimes resemble a bruised peach.

But now I tear up my lists of potentially ways to die before I complete them. I replace prescription: pills, rubbing alcohol, and razors with memories of the good days. Of holding your hand through the entire state of Oregon. Of running half-naked down a snowy street three New Year’s ago. Of riding go-carts in the Canadian wilderness. Of smoking cigarettes on the beach in San Francisco with someone I met six months ago. If I had left, we would not know each other.

If you feel the same way, stay. For the good days. And the sunsets. And the people out there who understand. Stay because being submerged in black water does not mean you have to drown. Stay. Just for a little longer. Just to see.

August 19 with 5,033 notes
ironyofchokingonjacksdick:

A sentence I never thought I would read