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(Source: tyleroakley)

" A dying friend once told me, ‘I wish I hadn’t spent so many Mondays wishing it were Friday. I also wish I had made better use of those Fridays, for better stories on Monday.’ "

- A Wolf’s Thoughts (via sleepychick)

(Source: wolfstravelsinmind, via b0hemian-vibes)

(Source: starcrosse, via newspapersocks)

It’s either bad or worse

This is like a roller coaster. Except it’s either at ground level, plodding along, or it drops down into this intense abyss. And then back to ground level.

At ground level you feel nothing. You don’t care about anything or anyone, including me. Your words, even through text message, plink along with bored disdain. There is nothing there. This is when it hurts the most; this is when the sense of loss is brought to the forefront of my consciousness. This is when I feel like I’ve lost you, like the flood of your depression has risen up and swallowed the person I love and before me rolls a barren, silent sea.

Other times, you get intensely sad. You cry, you sob, you scream. You say you’re tired of feeling this way, you hate this, you hate everything, you want to give up. In a way, a sick way I’d say, this is when I find you the most endearing. These are the times when I feel needed. I can tell you everything will get better eventually, and you thank me; you thank me for being understanding and supportive, sometimes you even say you love me again. These times give me hope because I can see that you still are that person that we say you used to be, you’re just suffering.

I can handle suffering. Suffering has it’s own hot intensity that is still human, it triggers my human compassion. I can’t handle lost, robotic, coldness. It almost feels inhuman to me. I can’t relate to it, and it hurts me more than anything.

But then I have to remind myself that it isn’t about me. Ever. Because half the time you couldn’t give a shit about me, and the other half of the time my pain can’t even measure up to your suffering.


(Source: xomeli, via draking-n-driving)


be critical of Anita Sarkeesian all you want but if the fact that she had to cancel a speech at a college because a student threatened a mass shooting isn’t a huge red flag to you about how very much alive misogyny is then you need to get the fuck out of my face

(via unskinny)

Loving someone with depression is hard. Have I said that already? I can say it again because it’s really fucking hard. Argh.


Provolone, Spinach and Shitake Mushroom Stuffed Chicken Breast with Shaved Fennel and Arugula Greens…RECIPE


If I don’t become famous for this I’m going to be sad

(via ruinously)