“It’s not always about sex, sometimes the best type of intimacy is where you just lay back, laugh together at the stupidest things, hold each other, and enjoy each others company.”—Unknown (via fck-an-apology)
“Skipping one meal is not foundation,
faking a suicide attempt is not eyeshadow,
getting nervous and calling it anxiety is not eyeliner,
and being sad and calling it depression is not lipstick.
Mental illness is not makeup.
You cannot just put it on and take it off at will,
to make people look at you differently,
or treat you better.
And believe me,
if you could just put it on and take it off,
I’d be cleansing every last inch of my skin.”—Pretending to Suffer isn’t Trendy (via mutilatedmemories)
Picture this: you’re at some drunken party downtown. There’s stale beer in one hand, the rim has your lipstick stain on it so now you’re worried that your mouth is looking patchy. You’re holding a slightly smoking cigarette in the other, but not taking it in because it makes you cough and you’re embarrassed that someone will see. You’re shuffling awkwardly to a song you don’t know the name of and you feel small and estranged. Like an island, like the last one to be picked on a sports team. Your friends are standing in dark corners now, talking to boys who want to touch their skin but not their souls and certainly not both at the same time. You’re standing there wondering if you’re ever going to feel less lonely, less like you’re standing on the precipice waiting for something that doesn’t want to come. You’re going to wrap your arms around yourself and take a sip of that stale beer. Then you’re going to go home at 3AM and crawl into your mother’s arms and cry all your empty out over her nightshirt.
Hold onto this thought: there is something glorious trembling at the very edge of your horizon. You are not your hollow nights, or your lack of self belief or all the times you kissed someone you didn’t even want to kiss. You’re not your one night stands or your endless string of boys who fucked you and left you. You’ll get your shit together, soon, maybe not today and maybe not even next year but you will. You’ll move out and you’ll call your parents on the weekends to tell them you love them. There’ll always be milk and eggs in the fridge. You’ll get a job that feels good. You’ll fall in love and he’ll kiss you like he means it and put his fingers in your mouth and it’ll feel like coming home. Everything will shift itself into place.
So you’re at this party and you’re terrified that you’re always going to feel like the word “missing” but take the feeling and swallow it. Take it between your open hands and close your fists around it. You’ve got more waiting for you.