war is behind glass a silver screen composed of pixels
war is in movies muted bombs, a silent scream
war is a newsflash on twitter, about a country far, far away
war is insignificant easily dismissed
but for them,
war is losing everyone they love war is hiding with bated breath war is a constant ache in their bellies war is a bleeding throat war is not being able to protect war is breathing dust tinged with dried blood
it's not knowing whether the person in front of them will see tomorrow it's the feeling of ruin when they see their house go up in smoke it's the taste of blood when they bite their tongue to stop from screaming
war is praying to be able to see the sun rise again the next day
war is not a silver screen not pixels dancing not a link on their newsfeed
loving someone with mental issues isn't poetic, or romantic hell, it's the opposite of that. it's running down to her house at 1.02am in the morning wondering whether she's still breathing it's anxious crying when she won't text you back because you don't know whether you've lost her over the slightest smallest things in everyday things you start to see the things that trigger her you look out for them so that you can steer her away when she doesn't talk to you you panic because you don't know how she's doing how she's faring whether she's okay whether she's going to be okay from then on. loving someone with mental illnesses is not easy it gets tiring
so stop romanticising it. i see things everywhere on tumblr, on social media, images full of soft greys and inky blacks paragraphs that romanticise these things these ugly things that no one should ever want to feel are being preached to the public as
'deep' 'mysterious' 'alluring'
stop doing this stop doing this it's wrong it's so wrong it needs to stop think about your friend dying inside, then choosing to die for real because of these things are these things really beauiful???? ARE THEY???? NO. THEY'RE ******* HORRENDOUS. SO STOP. ROMANTICISING. MENTAL ILLNESSES.
dear mum, i don't know when we drifted apart. it was probably eons ago when i was 7 or 8. ten years down the road and we haven't gotten any closer. do i regret not spending more time with you? not really.
i haven't been the best child. i've lied. a lot. i've broken your heart. a lot. and i've done things that you've told me not to. a lot.
i've learnt many things from you.
i've learnt to treat people the way you want to be treated. i've learnt to be sensitive of other people's feelings. and i've learnt to be kind. from you i have learnt how to care and be selfless. from you, i have learnt how to be a good person.
but i have learnt not so good things from you as well.
i've learnt to stay out of things because it's too tiring to get involved. i've learnt never to stand up for my future child when my husband is calling her useless trash. i've learnt that lying is the only way i'll ever be able to do what i want. i've learnt that if i ever want to divorce i should do it instead of hanging on for more than a decade and feeling miserable, the way you did. and still are doing.
i've learnt that the way to raise a child, is to provide for them physically then not to give a **** about their feelings.
love, your unfilial daughter
hello dad, it's been a while since i've ever felt any affection towards you. i think it ended the moment you started calling me idiot and useless trash. and when you ripped my dreams into shreds and forced me into the academic school of your choice.
i love how we cannot get along together without arguing at least twice a week. i love how you call me fat and compare me to my friends. i love how you have never praised me ever since i was 9 years old.
i love how you think that i still love you, when i don't.
in some twisted way you say that you love me, yet you continue to make me feel like the dirt on the bottom of your shoes. i love how you have never put 2 and 2 together to realise that the main reason why i'm always out of the house is so that i don't have to see you.
i love how dense you are. i absolutely, absolutely love how you told me my dreams are useless. i adore how you take out your anger on me, and how you never say sorry. and how you think that fat jokes are just jokes and that your insults are not hurtful.
i love how you think that with parental status, you can overwrite anything your child thinks. i love how you have taught me that the moment i become a parent, my child must do whatever i say and that i am always right, because parents set the rules. parents are gods.
it’s like when all you want to do is be happy and get through life being happy and old memories kick you in the gut so hard that all you can think of is leaving the country and never coming back.
never coming back to the faces that will only remind me of what can never be undone never coming back to face the facts never coming back to trauma to regret and to shame shame and more shame
and the worst feeling is knowing that no one will ever understand and always being too afraid to tell anyone and will anyone ever be trustworthy enough to be able to keep my secrets or will this go to the grave with me and die there
no justice nothing but blood and dirt and the pain in my eyes and-
it’s unfair when you have a good night and then the night turns sour in the blink of an eye and suddenly you’re not basking in warmth but drowning in cold loneliness and icy guilt and dirt and dirt and so much dirt and i can’t breathe and i will never trust anyone enough
and it’s okay being alone is okay i’m okay will be okay take a deep breath will be okay life will be okay it’s over and i can forget this i will be okay even if i’m not i have to be okay
but even now i'm not sure whether i'll be okay or whether i'm just trying to lie to myself to make it all better. i thought i forgave and forgot, but apparently not and things are just barreling back at me stronger than before and i can't take this anymore
I like cracking the spines of books and smelling the mustiness in its pages. I like how the lines run down the leather binding when I bend it backwards. I like how it falls open to a certain page when I flip it open, highlighting my favourite passages.
It's like I shaped this book. This object here, was influenced by me. And if I'm not able to make a big impact in this world than at least I know that I've changed something from the creases left in the covers and wrinkles in the papers.