Wonderland

party-on-fifth-avenue

Source: firecats

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ruinedchildhood

coltre

please take pictures of your friends. take pictures of your friends when they laugh, and when they are happy. And when they are sad, too. Take pictures of them partying, studying, eating, or sleeping in your bed. Take pictures of their new hair color, or new shoes, take pictures of them while they roll their first cigarette, and take pictures of their last, when they quit smoking. take pictures of your friends just being themselves. Tell them they are beautiful all the time you think it. They may dislike these pictures now. but one day, very very far from this year, they will be thankful

Source: coltre

itsagifnotagif

bestpal bestpal

smoking we’d

Source: staggot

jigglypuffsvevo

hunterinabrowncoat

Self harm doesn’t always happen when a blade touches skin.

It’s skipping meals because you don’t feel like you deserve to eat today. It’s having sex because you want to be used or abused or defiled. It’s drinking recklessly because you might have the ‘courage’ do something stupid. It’s smoking - not because you need the nicotine - because you know it’s bad for you. It’s banging your head against a wall when you’re angry. It’s crossing the road without looking because you lowkey hope a car might hit you. It’s thinking about all the ways you could break a bone and make it look like an accident. It’s not taking painkillers because you want to suffer. It’s taking painkillers in excess because you know it’s dangerous. It’s walking home the more dangerous way because you’re kind of half hoping you’ll get attacked or raped or stabbed. It’s going for long walks at night and getting chilled to the bone and hoping that you get lost so that you can’t find your way back. It’s seeking out triggering material. It’s all the stupid little ways you punish yourself for existing.

Sometimes self harm happens when you put effort into depriving yourself of things you like or need, and sometimes it happens when you don’t put any effort into doing the things you like or need.

It’s a pattern of self-destructive behaviour, and it doesn’t only happen in one way.

Source: hunterinabrowncoat

confirmance

likesboyswholikeboys likesboyswholikeboys

you can preach about slut-shaming all you want, but you can’t deny there’s something very wrong with 13 and 14-year old girls going out in skirts and dresses so short they barely cover their asses and shirts with necklines so low they show off cleave they haven’t got yet, drinking and even smoking and hooking up with guys before they even have a substantial knowledge of how sex and sexual relationships work.

dickrockerjanecrocker dickrockerjanecrocker

Thank YOU

Source: robertssvgden

outofthewhore-dinary

fileformat fileformat

it’s 1964 I’m on a balcony smoking a really long cigarette and some lofty music is playing I drop my martini on the floor it breaks and 5 men scramble to get me a new one

outofthewhore-dinary

is this a lana del ray music video

Source: marcitlali

dylanfuckme1

guy

being cremated is my last hope of getting a hot, smoking body

Source: guy

rlckrolled-blog

bestpal bestpal

smoking we’d

Source: staggot

fake-mermaid

bestpal bestpal

smoking we’d

Source: staggot

outofthewhore-dinary

distimiya

don’t let tumblr make you believe that

-smoking is cool

-being a narcissistic bitch is acceptable

-trusting nobody is healthy

-starving yourself will make you beautiful

-hating everybody is okay

imp3rfectious imp3rfectious

- that working hard for grades isn’t worth the time

- that having mental health condition is a perk

- that self harm should be romanticized

- that abusive and codependent relationships are cute

- that not being in a minority makes you any less of a person

Source: distimiya

unleashthebiesty

1. When you cut yourself, clean and bandage it.
2. Do not start smoking cigarettes because the boy who broke your heart does.
3. When you want to kill yourself, don’t.
4. Cutting calories doesn’t do anything but make you unhappy.
5. If the number on the scale rises, throw it out.
6. The first girl you ever “date” is going to call the police on you even though she lives three thousand miles away, because you’re going to tell her that you’re not in a good mental state shortly after you’ve “broken up”.
7. When you want to kill yourself, don’t.
8. Break up with the boy who says, “You had a sexy phase!” when you tell him that you’ve dated a girl before.
9. Dating your friends is not always the best idea, but you can still be friends after you’ve broken up.
10. Your mother will try to become your best friend because you’re leaving for college soon, let her.
11. When you want to kill yourself, don’t.
12. Your closest friend will stop talking to you when you leave for college.
13. It’s always okay to cry.
14. When you want to kill yourself, don’t.
15. When you cut yourself again, clean and bandage it. Do not be ashamed.
16. Your anxiety is going to try and control your entire life. Tell it to shut the hell up, because you’re trying to live and that task is hard enough as it is.
17. The past has a funny way of coming back in the form of you developing a crush on another friend.
18. Try not to hate yourself for breaking up with your boyfriend.
19. If you’re still smoking, apologize silently to your mother.
20. When you want to kill yourself, don’t.

(via stay-ocean-minded)

Source: princessdanhowell

confirmance hotboyproblems

writing-prompt-s

Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.

inkskinned

it’s my fault. it’s just that when we met it was autumn; her red-orange hair and crackling laughter. there’s a little spooky in her, a lot of play. and what a better time for falling?

i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.

it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.

she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching.

it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat.

three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions.

somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.

i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”

i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”

i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”

we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.

the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.

she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing.

the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.

and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.

she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”

recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.

one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.

this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.

this is what love looks like in an autumn girl: it is winter and she glows.

sarahakele

I’m actually sobbing jesus christ

whyisthisfrenchguymasturbating

my heart is aching??? this is gorgeous

imjustbeingfriendly

Wow. Worth the read, don’t scroll.

bannableoffense

This is everything.

Everything about how to love.

mr-prism

I was not prepared

mindlevelzero

Nor was I.

“this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.”

hypdom

Honestly, if you scrolled… Go back up and read it.

clearnutartisan

I’ve read this again and again, and it just wrecks me every time.

writing-prompt-s

This is beyond beautiful. Thanks for doing this prompt @inkskinned

Source: writing-prompt-s

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

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