Lucky you.

“You know depression hits when you wake up afraid that you’re going to live.”

Viscolul tine oamenii blocati in masini, pe DN2 de la ora 11 si jumatate. Gerul imi tine vecinii in casa de ieri seara. Tot ieri am aflat de cea mai mare furtuna solara din ultimii sapte ani si de efectele ei minunate, si azi am aflat ca sunt 70% sanse ca Japonia sa fie lovita de un super-cutremur in urmatorii patru ani. De asemenea, nu-stiu-unde au fost trei furtuni in trei saptamani, de cand a inceput anul; a treia a hotarat ca-i place suficient de mult zona, incat sa ramana acolo… macar o vreme.

Am doua saptamani de stat in casa, schimbat cinci tratamente, doua saptamani de nopti nedormite si-un gat sfasiat de tuse. Febra la muschii abdominali, tot de la tuse, si cearcane. Un genunchi vanat si umflat, in care nu prea pot sa ma sprijin. Mai am niste febra, din cand in cand, o fiere mai bolnava decat mine si o sesiune care ma asteapta si careia nu stiu daca o sa-i pot face fata.

Se pare ca toate drumurile inspre si dinspre oras sunt blocate, but that’s okay… this is home. I hope everybody is stuck at home… because the world is ending and we just might want to the see faces of those we love before everything falls apart.

Everyday feels like goodbye, I have no idea how and if I’m going to wake up in the morning, but, most of all, I don’t care. My life’s been flashing before my eyes for a while, getting me stuck in certain moments, making me feel like nothing’s actually worth it anymore.

So, I’ve been thinking about it, and I came to the conclusion that some people are just not meant to be happy. And I’m not saying this in a dramatic, lock-myself-in-a-cage-and-die-there-because-I’m-unhappy sort of way. It’s just like you’re literally allergic to it, your body’s rejecting any tiny ounce of happiness your fate might give you. It’s like… having it in your blood will make you choke before you even get a chance to feel it entirely. So, you get addicted to pain and sadness and everything not right, because you have to feel something, after all.

Si mai ai semnele si coincidentele care uneori te trezesc din somn (desi apuci atat de rar sa dormi) ca sa te pocneasca-n fata. Si le ignori si reprimi tot si te intrebi daca mai exista suficienta forta in tine ca sa incepi din nou, dar stii prea bine ca ai toate rezervoarele goale si ca oricum nu mai ai timp. Nu mai ai nici sanse. Si parca nu mai are rost.

Asa ca nu mai vrei nimic, zaci acolo si pierzi timpul care ti-a mai ramas. Te-ai gandi ca ai pierdut tot, dar daca ar fi fost ceva vreodata al tau cu adevarat, ar fi ramas al tau. So, I’m pretty much where I started, trying to fill a God-shaped hole inside my chest, feeding on memories and day-dreams, and mostly… running on empty. I used to want much more, I used to want good and crazy and free and peaceful, but I don’t, not anymore.

No classic rock, no SPN, no alcohol, no talking, just a steamy pile of NOTHING. That’s all there’s left, so… you might as well close your eyes and enjoy it.

 

“You’re too smart to remember.”

Midnight Frenzy

Sta undeva in centrul Bucurestiului, intr-o casa mare si creepy, unde usile se trantesc si se incuie din senin, bolurile de plastic sar din dulap in partea cealalta a bucatariei, iar pisica este… well… aristocrata. E locul in care ai voie sa plangi, sa urli, sa bei, sa faci clatite fericite sau de depresie, ai voie sa iti inveti lectiile si sa te vindeci. Acolo 3 ore de somn sunt suficiente si cafeaua e buna in fiecare dimineata. Acolo ai voie sa fii tu si-atat, cu bune si cu rele.

Si sta intr-o camera cu podea verde si pat verde si-o fereastra mare. Sifonierul nu e niciodata suficient, iar usa de la pod e foarte posibil sa fie legatura directa cu Narnia. In bucatarie stii sigur ca se fac cea mai buna lasagna si cel mai bun tiramisu, toate pe acorduri de rock classic. Pisica are, bineinteles, cel mai bun loc pe scaun.

Nu minte niciodata, nu ascunde lucruri si nu-ti spune ceea ce vrei sa auzi. O sa bea cu tine cand esti la pamant, o sa te scoata din casa/oras/tara cand simti ca te sufoci, o sa te caute cu disperare prin cladirea de 11 etaje, pentru ca nu stii ce-i cu tine si pentru ca te-ai pierdut, cumva, de tot. Apoi o sa te gaseasca si-o sa te faca bine in felul ei. O sa-ti schimbe viata. In bine. O sa-ti arate luminile orasului si “maretia Bucurestiului”, o sa te ia in excursii si la concerte, o sa-ti arate o mie de lucruri de care sa te bucuri, pentru ca tu nu stii si tu nu poti si tu nu mai vrei nimic.

Redefineste cumva notiunea de “cel mai bun prieten”, pentru ca tu ai mai avut prieteni, dar nu asa. Movielike, flashy, everything good and bad, but mostly good, all the same but actually different. Cu o replica la orice, o sa te faca sa te simti mai bine cand esti cu moralul la pamant, o sa iti cante “All by myself” cand are febra, o sa-ti impleteasca bratari colorate, o s-o critice cu stil pe tipa cu care umbla baiatul de care-ti place, o sa te lase sa-i bei tot alcoolul din casa cand prima iubire ti-a frant inima, o sa te oblige sa renunti la sacul cel de toate zilele si sa te imbraci ca orice alta fata, intr-o rochie. O sa-ti explice cu rabdare ceea ce tu nu vezi pentru ca ai capul prea adanc in fund, si o sa te opreasca inainte sa faci din nou aceeasi greseala.

Citeste o suta de pagini pe ora. Poate oricand sa castige un meci de basket. E omul care poate sa arate incredibil intr-o rochie eleganta, si la fel de bine in blugi si bocanci, in timp ce da din cap la un concert de black metal. Poate sa intarzie ore intregi, dar stii sigur ca vine. Poate sa ajunga cu 2 minute inainte de film, dar in mall-ul gresit. Poate sa invete toata materia in seara de dinaintea examenului, ba chiar sa le explice si altora despre ce e vorba. Si da, are replici si argumente pentru orice, dar “nu despre asta e vorba”.

Si ea nu stie, dar e… asa, ca o minune cu par verde. And nothing else matters.

So, I just wanted to thank you for everything. Being there, letting me drink all the alcohol, taking me on roadtrips, opening my eyes, trusting me, believing in me, giving me a chance, teaching me to dream and live and be better. I’m lucky to have you and I’m aware of that.

 

Free to be you and me

E mai usor, stii? Sa pui piese pe facebook sau sa dai reblog la poze pe tumblr. E mai usor sa lasi peste tot indicii, sperand ca le va vedea cine trebuie si, in acelasi timp, ca nu le va vedea nimeni. E ca un pact pe care-l faci cu tine insati ca sa te poti descurca intr-un fel sau altul cu avalansa care vine spre si dinspre tine. Reprimi doar valurile cu adevarat periculoase, restul mai poate scapa prin versurile piesei de pe facebook sau prin mesajul pozei de pe tumblr. Si exista suficienta nedreptate in toata situatia asta, cat sa poti inveli pamantul cu ea de doua ori… pentru ca e decembrie si e frig in partea asta a lumii. E anul 22 si e frig in partea asta a vietii. Ai un proiect de licenta de facut, carti de citit, lucruri de planificat si un an de pus la punct, dar bani nu-s si-afara e frig, esti numai tu la 517 si fantomele au umplut fiecare centimetru din cladire. Sunt pe hol, pe scari, la geam, langa tine, in pat si nu se opreste niciuna din bantuit doar pentru ca te doare pe tine.

Si e mai usor sa trimiti un mesaj, sa te holbezi la el jumatate de ora, sa scrii trei cuvinte, un zambet fals si un semn al exclamarii si sa presupui ca ti-ai facut datoria, dar ai o promisiune se indeplinit si probabil inca o lectie de invatat, asa ca pui mana pe telefon, te rogi sa nu-l scapi si te arunci a mia oara in gol, pe fundalul unei voci care obisnuia sa-ti dea tonul la fericire. Am o mie de liste, cu “de ce da” si “de ce nu” si mai ales “de ce mama naibii…?”, am trei saptamani de vacanta acasa, unde e tot ce-ar trebui sa-mi lipseasca… am cafea, chitara si siguranta in nuante de rosu. Dar fantomele nu se opresc din bantuit pentru ca mi-e mie dor si frica.

Am si muzica noua pentru flashuri vechi, care reuseste cumva sa creeze dependenta si sa genereze agonie. Mai am o promisiune de vremuri mai bune, explicatii recente la evenimente trecute, lumini noi si mai aprinse decat de obicei, o raceala de toata frumusetea si-o insomnie de invidiat. Sunt toate aici, unde nedreptatea e aproape de cota maxima si amintirile detin controlul. Poate mai e putin, totusi. Poate e ceva bun chiar dupa colt si eu ma gandesc sa ma dau batuta fix acum. Poate vom primi un semn, poate vom fi fericiti, poate suntem aproape de cicatrizare si echilibru.Gata? Am invatat lectia? Nu de alta, dar… am obosit sa fiu o rana deschisa.

“You look so tired… Tell me, when was the last time you got to be ACTUALLY happy? Because I swear I tried. I swear I tried…”

Remember tomorrow

People are strange. They’re like these umpredictable machines no one knows how to operate, all the same, but somehow different in every single detail.

Era o vreme in care eram ferm convinsa ca, ducandu-mi viata singura, separata de lumea reala si privindu-i cu atentie manifestandu-se in habitatul lor natural, puteam ajunge sa-i cunosc atat de bine, incat reuseam sa le prezic miscarea urmatoare. Aveam ani intregi de practica, ma consideram cu adevarat priceputa, pentru un om care nu avea niciun fel de contact cu alti oameni. Pentru un om care nici macar nu-si dorea vreun contact cu alti oameni.

Dar distanta asta eroda, in acelasi timp; singuratatea si modul in care alegeam zilnic sa o imbratisez erau acide, ma consumau constant. Asa ca ma bandajam in observatii si preluam controlul, asezandu-ma pe un nivel superior: eu eram una si ii studiam ca pe niste sobolani; ei erau multi si simpli, iar faptul ca nu stiau de mine ma facea si mai puternica.

E usor sa ramai obiectiv cand nu iti pasa de nimeni, dar cat de obiectiva eram eu, prinsa intre dorinta de a fi printre ei si refuzul in fata unei posibile adaptari? Iar cand cineva te vede, intr-un final, te ia pe sus si te duce in mijlocul multimii, unde te gasesti fortat sa te integrezi, obligat sa renunti la halatul alb si sa intri in uniforma de cobai, lucrurile nu mai par atat de evidente. Oamenii nu mai sunt previzibili, iar asta iti reduce tie controlul; depinzi de ei si intri in panica.

De la control la vulnerabilitate trecerea e rapida si dureroasa, haotica si intensa, iar adaptarea la vulnerabilitate presupune pastrarea unei oarecare doze de control, pe care cobaii nu si-l permit. Vulnerabilitatea este generata de simplul fapt ca suntem incapabili sa ne adaptam la ea. Ca un cerc vicios pe care eu, din pantofii mei de cercetator, nu aveam cum sa-l inteleg. M-am transformat din medic in pacient, din terapeut in client, din profesor in elev, doar ca sa simt pe pielea mea ce eram convinsa ca stiu si inteleg despre altii. Paradoxal, oricat mi-as fi dorit asta, am facut-o doar cand n-am mai avut de ales, pentru ca nici cel mai bun chirurg nu se opereaza singur.

Printre oameni nu mi-a mers bine. Oamenii sunt rai, intoleranti, oamenii ataca si judeca si sunt intr-o permanenta si inutila defensiva. Oamenii nu m-au placut, nici macar cei pe care eu i-am simtit ai mei. Am incercat sa ii studiez de la distanta, dar propriile mele sentimente ma tradau si ma impingeau cu un etaj mai jos decat ei, facandu-i intotdeauna perfecti, inaccesibili, idoli pentru care nu voi fi niciodata suficient de buna cat sa le fiu cercetator, nici suficient de interesanta, cat sa le fiu cobai. Si asa, limitata de insuficienta mea generala si chinuita de aceeasi singuratate acida, am inceput sa-mi doresc un singur lucru: ca, pierduta in multime, sa reusesc cumva sa-mi las amprenta pe oamenii care reuseau sa ma observe. Am inceput sa-mi doresc sa schimb vieti. Si, stiind ca oamenii-s rai si ca, intr-un fel, cei de care reuseam sa ma atasez erau si mai rai, mi-am imbracat din nou halatul, de data asta lipsit de un obiectivism ce mi-ar fi prins tare bine, si am inceput sa caut acea lumina care, desi adanc ascunsa inauntrul lor, ii facea sa straluceasca. In ochii mei, ii facea frumosi. Asa a inceput totul.

Ceea ce nu stii atunci cand tragi aer in piept, inchizi ochii si te arunci in gol e faptul ca oamenii aia, pentru care pui totul in joc sunt doar supradoze de necunoscut; e un sfarsit cu o mie de fete. Lumina aia in care tu crezi poate fi ascunsa sub nesfarsite straturi de rautate, pentru care tu nu ai suficienta energie si pe care te gasesti nevoit sa le iei asupra ta. Iti asumi rautatea unor oameni pe care i-ai ales si pentru care lupti asa cum ar trebui sa lupti pentru tine, dar n-o faci, pentru ca sa te salvezi pe tine nu te face erou. Si pentru ca, dincolo de toate, esti convins ca numai salvandu-i pe altii te-ai putea salva pe tine.

Din pacate, niciodata nu merge asa. Straturile de rautate se muleaza rapid pe existenta ta, energie nu mai ai ca sa te lupti cu asta, asa ca ramai contaminat, nefericit si singur. Oamenii pe care ii vrei raman indiferenti la sacrificiul tau. A fost alegerea ta, pana la urma, nu? Dintr-o gama variata de dureri de toate formele si culorile, intotdeauna o alegi pe aceeasi si niciodata nu-i permiti sa te invete nimic.

You can’t play God, you can’t change lives. At the end of the day, you’re just another lesson nobody wants to learn.

Kiss while your lips are still red.

… si acum o sa ne intoarcem la… whatever we left here.

Food of the year:  Lasagna, facuta in miezul noptii la Aurora in bucatarie.

Drink of the year:  Whiskey. Aurora, imi pare rau ca am baut toate sticlele, jur. Primul salariu… I promise. A fost si Bloody Mary o vreme… si-apoi n-a mai fost.

Party of the year:  Hmm… greu de zis. Poate ceva prin aprilie, poate ceva prin septembrie, in Brasov. Poate ceva prin noiembrie. This whole year was a freaking party.

Song of the year:   Tanya Stephens – It’s a pity, Toto – Hold the line, CCR – Have you ever seen the rain si Bruce Springsteen – You’re missing [in prima jumatate a anului]; Ozzy – Road to nowhere, Tarja Turunen – I walk alone, Nightwish – Kiss while your lips are still red, Sepultura – Ratamahatta, Missy Higgins – They weren’t there, Slipknot – Snuff, Deep Purple – Soldier of fortune [in cea de-a doua jumatate]. And a lot more, actually.

Site of the year:  Tumblr FTW!!! Poate si FB, recunosc, recunosc.

Blog of the year:   SPN Quotes. LMAOGTFO.

Relative of the year:   Matusa de la Brasov.

The ‘Oups! I did it again…’ of the year:  Ha. Well… being retarded. Generally speaking. And trusting people. BIG mistake.

Friend of the year:   Aurora.

Lover of the year:    Bobby Brown.

Clothing of the year:  Cizmele hardcore. :X

Trip of the year:   Vama Vecheeeee si Bulgaria si SIBIU   si Brasov si Sfintu Gheorghe. Si toata vara. Ah, si Miercurea Ciuc, bineinteles. Si Constanta.

Statement of the year:  FEFE. “Nu ma face sa te bag in baie.” Bitch, you crazy? I ain’t even mad.

Social Platform of the year:   Personalul 4503. Si La Pirati. Si Jack-u’, nah. The road.

Sport of the year:   Mersul cu trenul.

Movie of the year:   Raman la Supernatural.

Book of the year:  Carticica despre Reiki, de la Aurora.

Scent of the year:    Cafea si cafea si cafea din nou.

Game of the year:   Stalking, of course. Nah, maybe pretending I’m ok. Forgetting. Forgiving. ROIWORLD.

So… yeah. We’ve learned to enjoy life. We were kinda forced to. But the little things… the lights, the smiles, the roadtrips, the sounds, they’re all we need. We made memories, we were happy… we saved ourselves once again. I guess this is growing up, you just… wake up one day and decide that you’re strong enough to build happiness from thin air. There will always be something wrong, someone missing, you’ll always hurt a bit, but that’s the point, that’s what pushes you forward, you keep going, you never stop. There might be nothing you expect at the end of the road, but the ride… that’s what really matters. So, make it awesome and worth remembering.

 

Leapsa merge la Aurora.

“Mereu.”

Vama Veche e un mic colt de Rai.

Un Rai hippiot, cu mult alcool, codite impletite si bratari colorate. Piele arsa de soare si priviri senine, nisip si vant si valuri. Vama Veche e acolo unde nimic nu doare, nu apasa si nu sufoca.

E acolo unde te vindeci, unde renasti, unde nu poate sa-ti fie altfel decat bine, chiar si cand iti sufla briza prin buzunare si habar n-ai de unde urmeaza sa mananci. Vara asta, though, am invatat un lucru: the Universe provides… mai ales in Vama. Tot ce trebuie tu sa faci e sa-ti misti fundul pana la gara, sa te urci in trenul spre Mangalia si sa fii constient ca n-o sa te intorci la fel.

Sibiul e scenariul ideal pentru basme.

De parca ai trece dintr-un secol in altul, te intrebi cam cate povesti ti-ar putea spune pietrele de sub talpi sau cati cavaleri au mers pe acelasi drum ca tine; prin cate vieti treci cu fiecare pas.

E locul in care uiti, uiti tot ce doare sau apasa, sau sufoca, in care intelegi ca nu iti mai trebuie nimic din ce ai lasat in urma; ca n-are sens sa te uiti inapoi si cu siguranta nu trebuie sa te intorci niciodata. E locul care iti arata cum ar fi viata ta, daca ai hotari, de azi, ca meriti sa fii fericit. Sa-ti umpli plamanii cu linistea care pluteste in aer, sa-ti schimbi culorile sub un soare nou, cald, care nu va spune nimanui unde esti si cum sa te gaseasca.

Sunt locurile care mi-au facut vacanta incredibil de frumoasa, cand nimeni, nici macar eu, nu se astepta la asta. Din tren in tren, de pe o plaja pe alta, de la mese de 6 lei la scoici si melci si aerul unei tari noi, care nu-ti stie povestea. De pe nisip direct pe stradute vechi, printre case colorate; de La Pirati direct in fata scenei, la Artmania. I feel like I’ve been everywhere and each place has left its mark on me. Si e perfect, e incredibil sa fii, dupa n+1 ani, plin de amintiri frumoase si-atat, cu cateva lectii invatate in plus, dar la fel de copil ca intotdeauna.

Iar tu… tu m-ai gasit. Ascunsa acolo, printre oameni, lumini si note muzicale, cu garda sus, better off on my own, believing in nothing but myself. Si poate au fost culorile tale perfecte, sau poate sentimentul ca te cunosc dintotdeauna… Sau toate sincronizarile noastre, de care n-am stiut sa profitam la inceput. I never felt like leaving your side again.

Si sa stii ca noptile in tren nu-s atat de urate, cand stii ca destinatia e perfecta, iar rasaritul pe peron in Brasov, alergand dintr-o parte in alta, e mai frumos decat stie lumea. Si discutiile intr-un Personal vechi si murdar, in drum spre un oras complet necunoscut… they can be pretty fascinating.

Cheap food on the side of the road… a zecea strada la stanga spre o clinica bine ascunsa si, bineinteles, autostopul care are si el secretele lui. Si-am invatat ca berea te poate face sa adormi pe strada, in picioare… si ca nu e bine sa mananci ciocolata inainte de masa. Si ca serile pot fi geniale intr-un parc dintre blocuri, printre copii, ca si noi.

Am mai invatat ca poti sa ai noroc in dragoste, sau la carti; niciodata la amandoua in acelasi timp… Si ca daca ai noroc, poti sa te odihnesti dupa o zi perfecta noaptea, sub cerul liber, pe niste perne imense, pe care gardienii nu tre sa stie ca le-ai imprumutat. Am mai invatat ca exista cineva caruia ii place sa ma auda vorbind… tot timpul. Care a dezvoltat rapid a love-hate relationship cu bagajul meu si care imi spune constant ca ma uraste, doar ca sa ma stranga mai tare de mana in secunda urmatoare.

So… thank you. For teaching me stuff about me I never knew. For giving me 30 hours of happiness and for making me smile again.  Thank you for changing my life.

Dream a little dream of me.

Incepe in fiecare zi, pe la 5, 6 dupa amiaza. Incepe cu un gol in stomac, o gaura in piept, batai accelerate ale inimii. Incepe. Si asta e cam tot ce conteaza. In cateva secunde simt ca nu mai am loc in propria mea piele, ca se strange si se strange si ma sufoca. Ma arde. E ca si cum as avea acid sulfuric sub piele, prin vene. Si in fiecare seara, primul impuls e sa plec, sa ies din casa, sa imi bag castile in urechi si sa merg oriunde, cu oricine sau singura. Uneori chiar fac asta, alteori imi dau seama ca e inutil, ca nu camera mea e de vina si ca, daca ar fi fost ceva de care sa pot scapa, as fi facut-o probabil demult. But, I’m Humpty Dumpty… I can feel the cracks and all the missing pieces. I just can’t seem to be able to fix myself.

Ziua mi-e bine. Ziua am cafea si Supernatural si desene de facut. Ii am pe ai mei si am oameni cu care pot sa vorbesc. Ziua ma am pe mine… pana pe la 5, 6, cand pamantul imi fuge de sub picioare si incep sa cad. Apoi cad toata noaptea… pentru ca nu mai pot dormi de saptamani intregi, asa ca trebuie sa raman lucida si sa-mi curat gandurile si sentimentele din nou. Ca anul trecut. Si-as fi zis ca merge usor, doar am antrenament si rezistenta la durere, am mecanisme bune de reprimare si cognitii rationale. Look at me, I can fix myself. Except I can’t. Pentru ca traiesc fiecare zi intr-un mod pe care nu-l planuisem, pentru ca in loc de libertate si fericire si vacanta am goluri in stomac si noduri in gat si cantitati industriale de dureri de toate felurile. Poate ar trebui sa fac un catalog pentru ele… de la cea mai veche la cea mai recenta; de la cea mai ascutita la cea mai surda. Si mai am planuri aruncate la gunoi, o stima de sine six feet under si camera mea, care obisnuia sa fie my safe place si acum ma chinuie.

Dar e ok, pentru ca am intotdeauna ziua de maine, care desi dureaza numai pana la 5, 6, e frumoasa si linistita. Pentru ca asa trebuie, sa fie linistita. Sa nu simt nimic, pentru prima data in multe luni. There’s gotta be some fresh air for me somewhere. And a better life. Pana atunci, imi reconstruiesc din nou lumea… si pe mine. I’m like a shapeshifter shedding my skin.

And if wishes came true… things would fix themselves. And I’d feel alive again. But then again, who says I deserve to be alive?

First friend. First girl. Last words.

“When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don’t know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.”

“The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.”

“You can love someone so much…But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.”

“Thomas Edison’s last words were ‘It’s very beautiful over there’. I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful.”

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (…) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”

“I’m not saying that everything is survivable. Just that everything except the last thing is.”

“The town was paper, but the memories were not.”

“When did we see each other face-to-face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that, we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. But once the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out.”

“I didn’t need you, you idiot. I picked you. And then you picked me back.”

“I may die young, but at least I’ll die smart.”

“At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid, and it hurts, but then it’s over and you’re relieved.”

“Everything that comes together falls apart. When you stopped wishing things wouldn’t fall apart, you stopped suffering when they did.”

“That’s always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they’re pretty. It’s like picking your breakfeast cereals based on color instead of taste.”

“And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.”

“Here’s to all the places we went. And all the places we’ll go. And here’s to me, whispering again and again and again and again: iloveyou”

“The fundamental mistake I had always made–and that she had, in fairness, always led me to make–was this: Margo was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl.”

“She’s cute, I thought, but you don’t need to like a girl who treats you like you’re ten: You’ve already got a mom.”

“You like someone who can’t like you back because unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot. “

“Sometimes I don’t get you,’ I said.
She didn’t even glance at me. She just smiled toward the television and said, ‘You never get me. That’s the whole point.”

“I just did some calculations and I’ve been able to determine that you’re full of shit.”

“Some people have lives; some people have music.”

“It’s so hard to leave-until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world…Leaving feels too good, once you leave.”

“Maybe there’s something you’re afraid to say, or someone you’re afraid to love, or somewhere you’re afraid to go. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt because it matters.”

“It’s not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That’s the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?”

“There’s some people in this world who you can just love and love and love no matter what.”

“WE JUST DID AN AWESOME JOB OF NOT DYING”

“When things break, it’s not the actual breaking that prevents them from getting back together again. It’s because a little piece gets lost – the two remaining ends couldn’t fit together even if they wanted to. The whole shape has changed.”

“What you must understand about me is that I’m a deeply unhappy person.”

“Don’t you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don’t love the crazy, sullen bitch.”

“Y’all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.”

“Maybe its like you said before, all of us being cracked open. Like each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And then things happen – these people leave us, or don’t love us, or don’t get us, or we don’t get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack in places. And I mean, yeah once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable.”

“I am crying, he thought, opening his eyes to stare through the soapy, stinging water. I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it’s impossible to tell because I’m underwater. But he wasn’t crying. Curiously, he felt too depressed to cry. Too hurt. It felt as if she’d taken the part of him that cried.”

“How do you just stop being terrified of getting left behind and ending up by yourself forever and not meaning anything to the world?”

“Maybe all the strings inside him broke.”

“Caring doesn’t sometimes lead to misery. It always does.”

“So, I know that she forgives me, just as I forgive her. Thomas Edison’s last words were: “It’s very beautiful over there.” I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful.”

“Anything that happens all at once is just as likely to unhappen all at once, you know?”

… by John Green.

When it happens, do we fly?

There comes this moment, in your life, after all the bullshit and the boredom and the nothing and the pain and the “I’m happy.”-s when you’re not and aaaaall the smile faking and all the moments when you’re living for your friends’ happiness, there comes this moment… when you’re happy.

You’re FINALLY so-fucking-happy you can’t stop smiling, like ACTUALLY smiling, because you FEEL like smiling and you can’t keep your face straight, and you smile and then you start grinning and then you just burst out in laughter because you feel perfect and HAPPY and you don’t care about anything else. And you shine all the time and people can see that. So they ask you and you tell them and everybody understands that you’re LIVING, the way you should have started a long time ago, but you didn’t and it doesn’t matter cause you’re living NOW. And that’s perfect. Everything’s perfect. The way you feel beautiful, the way you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world and you can do any-fucking-thing you want to do. Say what you want to say.

There’s FREEDOM rushing through your veins, freedom and LIFE and there’s someone who makes your heart skip a beat every single time you think about him, and you’re happy. You don’t have butterflies in your stomach, oh no, you have real fucking DINOSAURS in there and they can’t hold still for a moment. And then you’re in like, and then you’re in love. And you have a pretty hand with long fingers to hold whenever you want, and that stupid fucking hand makes you feel safe and pretty and powerful.

You don’t feel like studying, cause this is new to you, new and perfect and oh-so-fucking-beautiful and you feel like laughing and kissing and touching and not letting go. Yeah, that’s exactly how you feel: like NOT letting go, NEVER letting go. So you hold on, you get closer and closer to what’s making you feel like this and then suddenly you’re all ready to share, share your world, share yourself. So you give and give and never stop giving and you actually start believing you’re receiving something back, except you’re not. You replace pieces of your world and pieces of yourself with beautiful lies and perfect illusions and meaningless words and the image of a person you learn to love that doesn’t even exist.

And then you love and you’re not being loved back. Never being loved back. And you try, cause you know you were happy and perfect and you felt there was something real there, even though there wasn’t. You keep trying and you become the only one who actually gives a fuck. But you’re not infinite, so you get tired of holding on to something that stopped making you happy a long time ago, so it’s only making you miserable. So you let go. And you know what happens? They LET you go. Because you NEVER made them happy. Because they never CARED. Because they’re actually kinda smart and really good at faking stuff.

You give it,we take it.

You build it, we break it.

You sign and we erase it.

You feel it, we fake it.

So NO, when it happens, we DO NOT fly. We crash, we burn, we cry, we hurt. We replace blood with alcohol, because there are people running through your veins, people you don’t want there. Because they did the ONE thing you’ve always begged them NOT to do. Then we replace them with other people, we move on, we heal. And we hope.

Unaccompanied Minor [7.22]

Meredith: [voiceover] There’s a reason I said I’d be happy alone. It wasn’t ’cause I thought I’d be happy alone. It was because I thought if I loved someone and then it fell apart, I might not make it. It’s easier to be alone. Because what if you learn that you need love and then you don’t have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It’s like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever.

However, my question is, how can you lose love, if you never had it? And why does it hurt the same?

“And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.”

“it is so unfair that he lives in ohio, because that should be close enough, but since neither of us drives and neither of us would ever in a million years say, ‘hey, mom, do you want to drive me across indiana to see a boy?,’ we’re kind of stuck.”

 

“I try to convince myself that it’s the alcohol talking. But alcohol can’t talk. It just sits there. It can’t even get itself out of the bottle.”

“Game over,” you say, and I don’t know which I take more exception to- the fact that you say that it’s over, or the fact that you say it’s a game. It’s only over when one of us keeps the notebook for good. It’s only a game if there is an absence of meaning. And we’ve already gone too far for that.”

 

“i am constantly torn between killing myself and killing everyone around me. those seem to be the two choices. everything else is just killing time.”

“apparel, n.: There are times I don’t mind doing the laundry, because folding your clothes reminds me of the shape of you.”
— David Levithan

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”
— Neil Gaiman (The Kindly Ones)

“I would die for you. But I won’t live for you.”

“It was the kind of kiss that made
me know that I was never so happy in my whole life.”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.”

“I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they’re here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It’s like looking at all the students and wondering who’s had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report due on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why.”

“Downtown. Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.”

“I just don’t want you to worry about me, or think you’ve met me, or waste your time anymore.”

“I don’t even remember the season. I just remember walking between them and feeling for the first time that I belonged somewhere.”

“I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with someone even if they could have. I need to know these people exist.”

“It’s just hard to see a friend hurt this much. Especially when you can’t do anything except ‘be there.’ I just want to make him stop hurting, but I can’t. So I just follow him around whenever he wants to show me his world.”

“And I closed my eyes because I wanted to know nothing but her arms.”

“I just want you to know that you’re very special… and the only reason I’m telling you is that I don’t know if anyone else ever has.”

“And when she started becoming a “young lady,” and no one was allowed to look at her because she thought she was fat. And how she really wasn’t fat. And how she was actually very pretty. And how different her face looked when she realized boys thought she was pretty. And how different her face looked the first time she really liked a boy who was not on a poster on her wall. And how her face looked when she realized she was in love with that boy. I wondered how her face would look when she came out from behind those doors.”

“He’s my whole world.”
“Don’t ever say that about anyone again. Not even me.”

“But right now I’m here with you. And I want to know where you are, what you need, and what you want to do.”

“Sam looked at me soft. And she hugged me. And I closed my eyes because I wanted to know nothing but her arms. And she kissed my cheek and whispered so nobody could hear.
“I love you.”

“I’m so sorry that I wasted your time because you really do mean a lot to me and I hope you have a very nice life because I really think you deserve it. I really do. I hope you do, too. Okay, then. Goodbye.”

“I look at people holding hands in hallways, and I try to think about how it all works. At the school dances, I sit in the background, and I tap my toe, and I wonder how many couples will dance to “their song.” In the hallways, I see the girls wearing the guys’ jackets, and I think about the idea of property. And I wonder if anyone is really happy. I hope they are. I really hope they are.”
— Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower)