It sucks when someone who basically raised you is a pretty shitty friend.
The thought of being in a relationship kind of makes me want to run into a wall repeatedly. Why can’t I be normal?
98 year old dobri dobrev, a man who lost his hearing in the second world war, walks 10 kilometers from his village in his homemade clothes and leather shoes to the city of sofia, where he spends the day begging for money.
though a well recognized fixture around several of the city’s chruches, known for his prostrations of thanks to all donors, it was only recently discovered that he has donated every penny he has collected — over 40,000 euros — towards the restoration of decaying bulgarian monasteries and churches and the utility bills of orphanages, living entirely off his monthly state pension of 80 euros and the kindness of others.
and now i’m crying.
In this country of increasing religious tolerance I find atheists and agnostics to be the most disrespected groups of all. A person with a lack of faith or no faith does not deserve any less respect than a person of the utmost faith. The “goodness” of a person is determined by character, not by the god they subscribe to or the book they read.
Sometimes, I wish I was a lesbian.
But alas, I love penises.
Yo, Josh, hey, hey, yeah, FUCK YOU.
Take my virginity, take my emotions, but don’t fucking touch my campus or marine advisor!!!!!!
Remembering the day my heart broke. The day I screamed and fell to the floor while my little brother covered his ears and left the room cause he couldn’t bear to listen to the cries coming out of my mouth. The day my Nana had to pick hysterical me off the floor, and be strong for me, when she has endured worlds worse. The day I had to sit at a table across from a police officer writing pages upon pages of things I lost, and the weeks that followed of remembering more.
I’ve had three horrible things happen to me. Two that were abnormally awful. I can only hope that the rest of my life will be relatively normal and I can attempt to get over the past at last.
Do you know what it’s like to lose your fucking mind?
To fall asleep to dreams of yourself flailing hard, fast fists at the chests of the ones you love?
To scratch your arms while screaming like an animal until your fingernails are painted red?
To run crying, hysterical, as far as you can because you know there’s a serial scene behind you?
These are the dreams hiding behind my smiling green eyes.
That’s what I get to look forward to every time I lay down at night.
Do you know what it’s like to feel out of control?
To be sitting, chatting drinking coffee, and notice your body fighting you?
To feel your fingers shake uncontrollably, until your entire body is humming?
To feel the hand of a man pressing his entire weight upon your chest, milking ever last breath from your lungs; but really no one is touching you?
When I glance at my hands and spread my fingers, then quickly hide them in my lap, I am afraid.
As my fingers massage my sternum and I try to keep a straight face, I’m trying to keep myself breathing.
Do you know what it feels like to never feel pleasure without feeling pain?
To be in the most intimate of an embrace and be crying out that you feel paralyzed?
To hear the laughter of a child, but always with that ominous feeling you’ll never have your own?
To be totally vulnerable, and in love with the arms that hold you, while knowing full well the heart they’re attached to doesn’t beat for you?
I know how it feels.
This is my everyday.
But my smile will tell you otherwise.
In this bed we planned our lives.
How we’d hike Eleuthera,
Our favorite tiny island,
Until we’d seen it all.
In this bed I told you my fears.
How the same fish I’m saving,
Will be gone in fifty years and you said,
“My dear, just keep trying.”
In this bed you told me about your friends,
How they’re all getting married and loving their lives.
I kept quiet, a fine line between smile and crying, knowing not everything was alright.
In this bed you invited her over,
You shared your favorite stories,
She called you captain, she said “You’re such a man!”
She is not me.
Though those same words, I once said.
In this bed you sleep each night,
Untroubled by the dreams that fill my days with dreading.
This bed is not mine.
My bed is hard and unwelcoming.
In my bed I sleep alone.
Ruined by the game you played and left scarred in every spot your skin touched my flesh.
And yet, I told you I wish the best for you.
And maybe it’s true,
But I wish you knew how you’ve destroyed me.
The girl you held
In this bed at night
“Thank you for everything.”