euphoriagirls:

“I remember that night, I was laying between my parents in bed, and, uh all of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. It was like there was no more air left in the world. And I was gasping, and I was panicking. And they called the ambulance and they thought it was like an allergic reaction or some shit. And then when I got to the hospital, they gave me liquid Valium. To calm me down. And when it hit me, I thought this is it. This is the feeling I have been searching for my entire life, for as long as I could remember. Because suddenly, the world went quiet. And I felt safe, in my own head.”

— Rue Bennett (Euphoria)

ruexxjules:

“The other thing about depression is it kind of collapses time. Suddenly you find your whole day is blending together to create one endless and suffocating loop, so you find yourself trying to remember the things that made you happy. But slowly, your brain begins to erase every memory that ever brought you joy and, eventually, all you can think about is how life has always been this way. And it will only continue to be this way.”

-Rue, Euphoria (2019)

freewillandphysics:

teal-deer:

witchyroses:

art–felt:

I remember first learning that you can cry from any emotion, that emotions are chemical levels in your brain and your body is constantly trying to maintain equilibrium. so if one emotion sky rockets, that chemical becomes flagged and signals the tear duct to open as an exit to release that emotion packaged neatly within a tear. Everything made sense after learning that. That sudden stability of your emotions after crying. How crying is often accompanied by the inability to feel any other emotion in that precise moment. And it is especially beautiful knowing that it is even possible to experience so much beauty or love or happiness that your body literally can’t hold on to all of it. So what I’ve learned is that crying signifies that you are feeling as much as humanely possible and that is living to the fullest extent. So keep feeling and cry often and as much as needed

SHIT WHAT

Also let yourself cry. It really is a biochemical release valve to dump out all the chemicals that make you feel stuff.

I honestly think one reason men in western culture have so many problems is that we don’t let them cry, and literally their brains get stuffed with all this crap that doesn’t have a release valve. Men, please cry. You’ll feel better. It’s ok. You are not lesser for taking care of your health.

This is why tears from different emotions look different under an electron microscope. They’re literally made up of different things. 

Happy tears are structurally different than sad tears than angry tears than overwhelmed tears etc.

versificar:

“Mas eu nunca fui o tipo de gente que olha pra beleza e venera. Porque eu acho isso bobagem, porque a paisagem de dentro é sempre mais bonita. E se você me fala que fulano é lindo por causa do olho de cor diferente, por causa do sorriso branco, ou por causa do físico perfeito, eu sou obrigado a rir e dizer que nada disso vale um amor pra anos, um amor de anos: o exterior sempre perde para o tempo, sempre sucumbe à falta de maquiagem e à falta de mundo.”

— Eu viro água.

transiting:

don’t make other people’s decisions for them. apply for the job you don’t think you’ll get. let them decide if you have the skills they’re looking for. tell that person you like them even though you think they’re out of your league. let them decide if they like you. stop trying to predict and control everything. bring what you have to the table. let the rest go.

justscribbledwords:

“When she didn’t get out of her bed for days, instead of calling it depression, you called her lazy. When she was high as the sky one days, jumping off of roofs for fun and lower than hell on other days wallowing in her misery, instead of calling it bipolar disorder, you called her hormonal. When she couldn’t talk to people on phone, or couldn’t hold eye contact even for a millisecond, with panic attacks in public places, instead of calling it anxiety, you called her shy and introvert. When she asked for help, a diagnosis, someone to talk to, instead of calling a doctor for an appointment, you called her an attention seeker. Soon depression was her best friend, always lulling her to sleep. Soon bipolar was the cool Aunt who couldn’t keep her thoughts under control. Soon anxiety was that second cousin who touched her every once in a while when no one was looking. Soon you called a doctor only for him to call her time of death.”

—

@justscribbledwords

Mom, my depression is a shapeshifter
One day it’s as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear
The next it’s the bear
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone
I call the bad days “the Dark Days”
Mom says, “try lighting candles”
But when I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church
The flicker of a flame
Sparks of a memory younger than noon
I am standing beside her open casket
It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die
Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark, perhaps that’s part of the problem
Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed”
I can’t, anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head
Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?”
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party
Mom, I am the party, only I am a party I don’t want to be at
Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends”
Sure I make plans, I make plans but I don’t want to go
I make plans because I know I should want to go; I know sometimes I would have wanted to go
It’s just not that fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom
You see, Mom, each night Insomnia sweeps me up in his arms, dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company
Mom says, “Try counting sheep”
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake
So I go for walks, but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wristsThey ring in my ears like clumsy church bells, reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness that I cannot baptize myself in
Mom says, “Happy is a decision”
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg
My happy is a high fever that will break
Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat out asks me if I am afraid of dying
No Mom I am afraid of living
Mom I am lonely
I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely the lonely into busy
So when I say I’ve been super busy lately I mean I’ve been falling asleep watching SportsCenter on the couch
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed
But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city
My mouth a boneyard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat
But I am just a careless tourist here

I will never truly know everywhere I have been
Mom still doesn’t understand
Mom, can’t you see
That neither can I

pathetic-killer-queen:

“Everyone has that moment, I think, the moment when something so … momentous happens that it rips your very being into small pieces. And then you have to stop. For a long time, you gather your pieces. And it takes such a very long time, not to fit them back together, but to assemble them in a new way, not necessarily a better way. More, a way you can live with until you know for certain that this piece should go there, and that one there.”

— Kathleen Glasgow, Girl in Pieces