Whenever you look at me,
it’s like I’m about to have a fucking
heart attack. Your eyes. Your eyes
always get to me and I don’t
know what is it about them that do,
but they manage to do something
to my stomach that I suddenly have
the urge to double over in whelm.
I hate it, when you gaze over me. But
at the same time, j’aime quand tu
no one should scroll past this
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do." - It’s not that I don’t love you. (via extrasad)
I think suicide would be the best way to die, you’re dying on your own terms, not somebody else’s. You get to say goodbye to your loved ones, even if it’s just in a letter or video. You win a game you were supposed to lose.
NO FUCK THIS KIND OF THINKING.
Fuck tumblr for always glorifying suicide.
Let’s break this fucking post down. You’d better hit that readmore button, I stg.
emotional abuse is when someone does something to hurt you, and when you express your feelings, that you’re upset, they turn it around to be something you did to hurt them and they force you to apologize for it, and your feelings, like always, are rendered invalid and silenced, forever damaging the ability to trust others with your feelings because they always are used against you.
this is important because so many people don’t know this