I think I just heard my heart break.
due to childhood speech impediments, I generally go by Lizzie (or Lizy, when signing). college kid living in southern california, online both to escape my situation and also to make sense of it. infp. capricorn. contact for affection and dialogue. <3
By Joshua Espinoza (via lunemoelleux)
I spent the majority of my day fighting these awful feelings and nausea but then Veronica Mars started crying about how she couldn’t imagine what she’d do if she ever lost her dad
So I’m succumbing to the dread and emptiness with psychiatrist-administered sleeping aids, a trusted bear, and death cab.
I want to stop fighting myself and wearing myself out just trying to keep my head above the waves when the current has already pulled me too far out. Swimming parallel to shore isn’t even an option anymore. There is no there there, to quote one brilliant Gertrude Stein.
I just want to live through tonight, be in a relatively decent shape for my classes tomorrow, and pump myself full of caffeine in the morning so I can at least fake my way through the shit.
I was thinking about what my mom used to say when she found out that I was crying instead of sleeping in high school. She’d make me some tea and she’d ask me to pray with her. We’d sit and talk about each line of the prayer that we said as a family every night, specifically about the parts where we give our troubles to Jesus and trust that he’s going to take care of us because our alternative is Satan and he’s totally not a bro. The thing is, when Jesus was separated from his father, he was in literal hell. What makes me think he can handle my paternal loss any better?
I don’t know how much of myself is a person trying to keep up appearances, how much is a person trying to break free of her restrictions and figure out who she actually wants to be, and how much of me has just given up on myself.
I don’t know what I actually believe, except that life is not a fairly balanced scale, lady justice is just a painting, and, though things could be worse, I’m not happy with this metaphysical plane I am currently inhabiting.
Yossarian goes up to the counter to order a latte. He pulls out $3.00 to pay for it, but the barista informs him the price has recently gone up to $3.50. Yossarian has to run home to get fifty more cents, walking along a street full of murderers, rapists, child molesters; fires burning in every window, the acrid smell of smoke burning his nostrils. By the time he gets back, the price of a latte has been raised to $4.00.
Marie Brian, better known online as the Cotton Floozy, is fed up with the haters trying to rain on her craft parade. An advocate for LGBT rights and feminism, her crafts embody a liberal, and often subversive, viewpoint, making her a target for hateful criticism online.
Instead of engaging with these bellyachers, however, Brian decided to “adorable-ize” the hate by embroidering direct quotes from trolls that she and her feminist friends receive and posting them to Instagram.