since i’m shameless and i’m sad, i’m going to post everything here. maybe someday i’ll look back on this and laugh at myself again, but in a less cynical way.

So I found out a lot of things about the guy I’ve been crushing on for over half a year. First off, he has a girlfriend and I know this, which is why I stayed very very far away and kept all of my feelings miles away from him. But yesterday I found out a lot of things about him and his relationship.

I’d always thought that they were happy.

I thought that he loves her (which he does)

and she loves him (which she does)

and that they made each other happy ( ).

I thought that hey, maybe i’ll never have him, but maybe that’s okay because at least she loves him for all the reasons I do and more. She loves him more and she loves him better than I ever can….. And it makes me so, so angry that that’s not the case.

She’s just as sad as I was in my worst times, maybe a little more lonely, maybe a little more fragile, but the one thing she has that I didn’t was someone to desperately, savagely hold onto. Someone that you can claw and tear apart every time you need to because you figured they know how to put themselves back together when you’re done with them. He’s a wall that you can smear and stain and scratch and everything will be okay when you paint it over in white again. A plant that doesn’t need to be watered, a lover that doesn’t need to be loved. Except he’s not.

It makes me so mad because how can you suck someone into the blackhole that is your own sadness? How can you make a home out of a boy and then tear it down beam by beam, brick by brick, and yet in the end he’s the one trying to fix you? It makes me mad because he knows you don’t have anyone but him, and he believes he’s the same. He doesn’t think anyone else is capable of giving him more than what little love you show. And it makes me mad because I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for me.

How to murder someone: kiss them once and never again.

(via 400eurojob)

(Source: mitlas)

She imagines him imagining her.
This is her salvation.

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin  (via moriarty)

(Source: larmoyante)

It makes me sick, the way sadness is addicting. The way I can’t stop. Sadness is familiar. It’s comfortable and it’s easy in a sense that it comes naturally to me. But everything else about it is hard. The way my body aches with self-hatred. The way my mind spins and spins with hopeless thoughts. The way it poisons everything I do, every relationship I have. Yet it’s addicting, because I know sadness, and I know it very well. And there’s a sort of comfort in that, like being home after a trip or sleeping in your own bed after being away. There’s just a sense that this is where I belong. This is how it’s supposed to be.

.  (via pnko)

People will kill you over time, and how they’ll kill you is with tiny, harmless phrases, like ‘be realistic.’

Dylan Moran (via larmoyante)

(Source: larmoyante)

The funny thing about depression is that there’s an overwhelming guilt when you think you’re getting better.

I feel happier, yes, but i feel normal. Ordinary. To the point where I’m not sure I’m feeling anything as potently as I used to. And to think that this is what I’ve always wanted. I’ve always wanted to be simple and normal and careless, but I’d forgotten that art exists in what is broken. Art is made of heartbreak, and loneliness, and fear and beauty and the accumulation of the agitated emotions of a restless mind. My inspiration had always been a combination of these things, and I’d forgotten this. I’d forgotten that to make beautiful things, I had to feel so much more than what I’m feeling now. 

Or maybe it’s just a part of growing up without practice. Maybe it’s me conforming to the norm because I have to given the social expectations put onto me. Maybe life is slowly emptying me, maybe i’m decaying spiritually faster than I am physically, maybe that’s fucking happening to all of us as we grow older.

But I am happier (when the sun has yet to set and I am not left alone with my mind) and that should be a good thing, I suppose.