Post(s) tagged with "sad"
Hey friends/followers,
I wrote a personal story for The Gloss a few days ago. It’s one I’ve meant to write for nearly a decade but it never came out quite right. The prompt was “I Regret…” and at first, I began to write about how I have wasted a significant portion of my life on at least one person who was not worthy of my friendship. And then I thought more; was that actually my biggest regret? Is that the one that has affected how I function day in and day out? No, it wasn’t. It was an unfortunate circumstance; the topic I actually wrote about was the one I would give anything to go back and change.
As I’ve said before, I’m not looking for pity. I have also wasted quite a bit of my life desperately searching for empathy of some sort or for somebody else to make me happy, but—of course—I am the only one who can do those things for myself. I’m looking to forgive myself, to see the future as it is intended to be seen (bright, possible), and to offer myself to anybody who needs to know they’re not alone. I know what it is to feel your ears perk horribly at loud noises and feel your spine contorting when a person in a bar touches you without asking. I know what it is to be in a dark place—none of us are alone.
But it’s never enough to simply say “you’re not alone” to others; we have to show it. It’s so integral to recovery on a mass scale that we discourage slut-shaming and victim-blaming sentiments and actions. We have to show one another that we’re not embarrassed, that we know it wasn’t our faults, that guilt is not going to devour us because out there, somebody else is in a dark place and—even if it’s not “technically” our responsibility to help, we are almost all within our abilities to.
Anyways, whether you dig the idea of the article or not, I would love for you to check it out and let me know in the comments section or something; I’m a firm believer that without critique, few things will ever improve. And if any of you have things you’ve written that you ever want a fresh pair of eyes to see, let me know because I’d love to read it.
Best,
Sam
Six springs later (yesterday, in fact) and I think it’s finally time for me to pack up, though I folded everything neatly nearly three years ago. The date was pi; the irony hasn’t escaped me. Then again, when two people become two new people, is it ever really expected that their bubble won’t be broken?
Made by Diego Soprana
The woman is perfected Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment, The illusion of a Greek necessity Flows in the scrolls of her toga, Her bare Feet seem to be saying: We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent, One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty She has folded Them back into her body as petals Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odors bleed From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower. The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.Sylvia Plath, "Edge"
Source: youngandbanging
Yours Bluely
I taught myself to survive a four-story fall.
Sam, 22, native New Yorker living in southern California. Not for the faint of heart (though my life is mostly tl;dr). I dig avocado, rant often, and have excessive levels of empathy in my system. Fondu au noir.
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Self-centered bitterness, now on Twitter.
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