It’s coming for me again. I’m finding myself unable to maintain a job and reselling my things. It’s worn me down enough that people around me have suggested disability and I’m not even opposed but it’s still defeating to hear. If I don’t make my next car payment I don’t know what I’m going to do. I write on here because it’s the only social media I have left that I won’t be criticized on.

seaymphea:

“Everything is burning, my soul, body, outside, inside, heart, flesh… Do you understand? Do you really understand?”

— María Casares, from a letter to Albert Camus written c. March 1952
(via violentwavesofemotion)

In-between creating, I bask in these little things.

rosyofthevalley:

I’d be so good as a rich person. I’d create the most beautiful high-concept life.

I miss this realm. I miss the people I’d met on here and reading all the little half dreamed text posts of everyone before I slept. Or the long messages between people I felt were close enough to be family even though I’d possibly never read their real names.

marisatomay:

for sale: baby shoes never worn. kid was born bigger than anticipated. absolutely jacked. real renaissance man.

(Source: marisatomay)