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there are moments that cry out to be fulfilled - mary oliver.
shell | 23 | i have a dog
shell | 23 | i have a dog
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It's hard to know they're out there;
It's hard to know that you still care.
whyisthisfrenchguymasturbating:
Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.
it’s my fault. it’s just that when we met it was autumn; her red-orange hair and crackling laughter. there’s a little spooky in her, a lot of play. and what a better time for falling?
i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.
it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.
she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching.
it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat.
three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions.
somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.
i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”
i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”
i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”
we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.
the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.
she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing.
the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.
and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.
she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”
recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.
one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.
this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.
this is what love looks like in an autumn girl: it is winter and she glows.
I’m actually sobbing jesus christ
my heart is aching??? this is gorgeous
Wow. Worth the read, don’t scroll.
i just want to do everything at once, i want to travel and film all of my adventures and i want to take pictures of everything and i want to spend early mornings in airports and late evenings on rooftops and i want to drink lattes in little cafes and discover myself
I wanna save Quill so I can prove I’m better than him! I can lord this over him forever… What are you laughing at me for?
They were here together, the children of the forest and the First Men. They fought together against their common enemy. Despite their differences, despite their suspicions. Together. We need to do the same if we’re going to survive.
The Spoils of War
I can save today. You can save the world. …I wish we had more time. I love you.
self care for when you hit rock bottom
i fucking hate self care posts made by neurotypicals so here’s one from someone who Actually Gets It
-can’t shower or take a bath? me either. dry shampoo can make your hair look and feel cleaner, and baby wipes or makeup wipes work great to get the top layer of grime off your skin.
-can’t wash your sheets and make your bed? i feel you. push your blankets out of the way and shake the crumbs off your sheet. it will at least be a bit more comfortable.
-can’t even change out of your dirty pajamas? been there. hit yourself with some febreeze and a lint roller. if you can, brush your hair. if you can’t, hair ties and bobby pins are fantastic.
-can’t make anything to eat? same. if you can, there’s no shame in ordering food. in fact, it’s probably better you eat something rather than go hungry. if you can’t, try and find something that comes pre-made or takes minimal effort to make. at the very least, drink some water.
can’t respond to messages or reach out for help? yeah, i get that. set an alarm for a few hours from now and respond to any messages you need to once you’ve given yourself time to prepare. if they’re Important Messages that need Professional Responses, you can find fill-in-the-blank format rough drafts on google. as far as personal messages go, don’t feel bad for sending a mass “I’m sorry, I’m in a personal emergency right now. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” response to everyone.
-can’t even sleep because it’s so bad? asmr videos always knock me out, personally, but i also watch a lot of bob ross. just try to find something quiet and soothing to use as background noise and take your mind off it, or at least give you a more peaceful environment to think about it.
-can’t go for a walk/drive? try opening the blinds or curtains. you’re still exposing yourself to the outside world. baby steps. (i also play animal crossing or sims; it may be virtual but fuck it. i went on a walk.)
-can’t go into work/school? let people know. let your coworkers or classmates know it’s an emergency and you can’t make it. give yourself up to two days, but then you have to go back. ask to have your work emailed to you so you know what you missed.
-can’t brush your teeth and wash your face? makeup or baby wipes and gum or mouthwash. don’t let yourself physically rot bc you’re rotting emotionally.
-remember that you’ve been here before. if you survived then you can survive now. that’s what this is about- survival. you don’t have to be living your Best Life. right now, it’s more than enough that you’re alive.
This is the only self car masterpost I’ve ever seen that is feasible for severe depressive episodes
Wwwwwoooowww needed this
This is Important for low spoon days y'all
Dylan O'Brien & Tyler Posey at Comic Con panels through the years