Charles and Erik finally reconcile

(via schmergo)

Source: bobzenub
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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.



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 labioratory)

(via maureensowerbutts)

Source: babybirched
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Futile Wishes

On the tip of my tongue

Choked back by tears

At the thought

Of what I could have done

I could have been there

I could have stayed

I could have made him stronger

I could have made this day delayed

Maybe he would’ve tried harder

If I was at home

Maybe he wouldn’t have died

Feeling all alone

Maybe if I sent more money

He would have had a better life

And not wanted to leave me

With no place that feels right

He was my anchor

The inspiration for my light

Without him

I am nothing

A shadow to his flame

He burned brighter than I ever could

I don’t deserve the same last name

I can’t even think

Of the last time

I saw him cry

He wasn’t afraid of anything

I hope he wasn’t afraid to die

I can’t wait to get away from here

To somewhere far away

Somewhere I can forget that this happened

That he died on this day

I can pretend

That if I wanted to,

I could call him on the phone

I can pretend

That he is still waiting

For me to come back home


"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."

- The Little Prince. (via blackdressinabluemovie)

(via questforbliss)

Source: itsthewaitingunknown
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Emma Thompson presents, wins the Golden Globes

(via makeitagoodoneeh)

Source: mishawinsexster
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