I survived because there was no other option. Not even the obvious.
Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls? The world outside has not become less real because the prisoner cannot see it. In using escape in this way the critics have chosen the wrong word, and, what is more, they are confusing, not always by sincere error, the Escape of the Prisoner with the Flight of the Deserter.
— J.R.R Tolkien
“She’s found a family that understands her at a time of experiencing a relentless depression and loneliness, and that, like any illness, could very well have meant the end of [her], had she not found a tribe willing to take her in. Would she even really survive, returning to modern civilisation? Her fate very well may have ended the same as her sister, in that case, taking her own life as a result of this depression. At least with the Hårga, Dani experiences some actual happiness. Even if she’s chosen at random to be sacrificed for some stupid ritual only a week after the movie ends, we could still argue that even the briefest experience of pure happiness is a better fate than returning to where you don’t belong, to further deteriorate in isolation. She may have withered away and died in darkness, without ever having known the light of life.”
— “Why The Midsommar Discourse Misses the Point”, Terror Formed
Brittle little smile, pretty petrol eyes
We keep our shadows locked up here inside
Try not to offend or to disappoint them
Write them letters you will never send
Don’t show that you’re hurt
You won’t be the first to hide the bruises there under your shirt
Oh, and your secret’s safe with me, so admit your complicity
And write them words that they will never read
Oh, they stay in shadows, all the heartbreakers
Oh, they stay in shadows, all the troublemakers —
It’s always the quiet ones.
It’s always the quiet ones.
It is just so, so unfair that people who went out of their miserable little way to be deliberately cruel and, let’s be honest, downright fucking evil are all happy and okay and forgiven, and I’m the one sobbing hysterically at 3PM on a Sunday afternoon touching literal scar tissue and remembering every. single. fucking. sensation. and realising that this has been the way of it since I was a child, and those types of fucked-up fuckups know. They’ve got a radar for people who are weak and hurt and they hone in on them like heat-seeking missiles.
But I forgive them. Of course I do. They’re no longer who they were, then.
Unfortunately I am still me, and the keloids tell entire stories in languages nobody in the world can understand.
I’m not strong enough to keep doing this. I can’t keep having my face rubbed in my own vomit. I am not strong enough, stop saying I am and then being annoyed when I fall. Listen to me. Listen to me. I don’t wanna do any of this any more. I’m so tired. Please.
“Anyways, bi-polar is not a ‘mental disorder’, in a sense. Medicine can fix it, all it does is cause a chemical imbalance, and that causes you to have mood swings. That does’nt mean she is more likely to do anything drastic, as long as she is taking medication for it.”
There are still some things I am so, so angry about. There are still some things that make me sick to my stomach, that kick my trauma response into full wakefulness, that make me want to vomit all over my keyboard. There are still scars from where I was trying to let out the fear and pain without making a sound…and was then mocked for it.
There is still so much to fucking hate.
It’s why my hair-trigger response now is instant white-ice silence when I sense some shit’s going on behind the scenes. (Or when I know, nevermind sense.) I am not going back to that place, I am not letting that poison into my life again, and you can try to inject it into it for as long as you like, babes, but I am not here for it and I am not going to put up with it. Nobody gets away with garbage, this time. I am never going to be an online punching bag for a group of cliquey, nasty Mean Girls ever again, and I am not going to interact with anyone who has anything to do with people who continue to indulge in this behaviour, whether that’s on Twitter or the TFL boards or goddamn anywhere.
Because you know that thing that adults tell you? “Don’t worry, after high school all the catty, petty behaviour will stop, you’ll see”? Yeah, that is a fucking lie. It doesn’t. People just become older, that’s literally all.
You are worth so much more than they say you are.
Oh, every day and every night
Persistin’ pain and the criminal mind
Nights the beating of my heart kept me up
The mournful crescent moon hung beyond the window
I do wish me a lovely night…
Where’s my end finally gonna be?
Everything’s so exhausting, from A to Z
When’s this wretched mask finally gonna come off?
Yeah, me no hero, me no villain
I’m barely anything
Idling repeats, memories turning vicious
Lying in a field, I set my sights on the skies
Now, I can’t remember what I wanted so badly
I trusted I was happy, now a mere memory
걱정마 베이비
나는 아직도 기억한다
난 아직도 당신이 싫어