Regram from @herwilfulway because #lol
I’d cut my soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home. I’d write love poems to the parts of yourself you can’t stand. I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark. — Andrea Gibson, Slip Your Mind (via of-adrasteia)
(Source: larmoyante, via astudyincontrasts)
(Source: , via spanishcow)
My childhood was not great. Many times growing up I shrugged that fact off… because others have had it worse… because I didn’t want to identify myself with the child that happened to…
because allowing it to be a thing made me feel weak.
I wore a mask of capability. I presented the world with a face that said, “I can handle this.” All the while feeling a crippling wrongness inside. I was a puzzle piece that did not fit into this world.
I used to believe I would not live to be any older than twenty-three. That was the frame of time that I thought it would take the universe to realize the mistake of my existence. Something else would take me out of this world. I would not be responsible for it. I would not be to blame if that hurt others.
I’m thirty-two now.
I have outgrown my codependency with my mother, having seen myself only as an extension of her life. I have outgrown the codependency with my now ex-husband. For a long time the relationship worked. When I was a child within and needed to be taken care of, he provided for me the love and safety I never felt with my parents. But in that I gave up the full freedom of being myself. I accepted limitations on my experiences, not gracefully, but I allowed him to dictate how certain things would be.
I sacrificed my own happiness for him to be happy. I wore the mask. I returned to that place inside of unhappiness. Things added to it. Piled up. Stores of emotions left unattended since I was young. I no longer had thoughts about the universe taking me out of the equation. I thought, if this is how I’m going to feel for the rest of my life, why would I want to keep living?
I started talking to someone. I started working through issues I had never allowed myself to realize I had.
Now I’m no longer married. Now I’m living by myself for the first time in my life.
I’m still trying to grow as a person, but I feel I have a better foundation for doing so.
What doesn’t kill me should run, because now I’m fucking pissed — (via meaty-bicycle)
Men who can’t cook, clean, or even do their own laundry are not “cute” and “in need of a woman to care for them”. They are spoiled brats so dependent on gender roles that they never bothered to learn the minimal skills to take care of themselves.
(Source: queen-of-love-and-beauty, via tricyclesinskirts)