I Finally Found My Rhythem When I Realize That Even The Steps Backwards Were Part Of The Dance.

i wanna watch a movie but i also wanna finish this book but i also wanna go to bed but i also wanna eat something but i also wanna finish that tv series but i also wanna drink something but i also wanna do something with my life

do you see my dilemma 

She stretches out across your sheets; she’s all legs and red lipstick. You don’t remember when she got here, but you know she’s not leaving yet. She reaches out, runs a hand through your hair. She smirks, purrs: “Just stay in bed.” She curls up on your chest, clothed in other people’s diamonds and a long, black dress. Her fingers play invisible piano keys across your collarbones and she plants kisses on your neck when you should be taking a shower, getting dressed. You can’t get a word in edge-wise because she’s constantly asking you: “Remember that one time..?” And your mouth doesn’t work. And your brain doesn’t think. And are your eyes blinking? I don’t know. When was the last time you ate? She’s there when you try to return that call, when you go to put on your shoes. She powders her nose and gives you sideways glances at the liqour store. She laughs at jokes you don’t catch. She traces your lips with a well-manicured nail, asks you constantly to forgive her. She never apologizes. She never changes. When she falls asleep beside you, you can’t do anything but stare at her or the ceiling or her or the ceiling or her or the ceiling— She keeps you awake with her constant shifting. In the morning, you are empty and nauseous, with an ache behind your eyes and the panicked feeling that you’re wasting the best years of your life. Slowly. Pointlessly. One day at a time. Your friends tell you to leave her, but it’s not that easy. You don’t remember a Before and you can’t imagine an After. So, you make a quiet life together, just the two of you. You sleep in until noon and stay up drinking every night. You quit your part-time job to spend every day with her. Until she gets bored, and she always gets bored. When she does, she escalates. A little cocaine. Some scratch marks down your legs. Waking up in the bathtub, shaking. Those pills look just like candy, don’t they? But, she reaches out, runs a hand through your hair. She smirks. Purrs: “Just stay in bed.” They compare her so often to a little black rain cloud, a wilting flower—but she is so much more complex. Infinitely more tragic. She’s the feeling you get at a strangers funeral, like maybe you should cry or just not be there. My Depression is the first person I ever fell in love with. And together, we are wasting the best years of my life. Slowly. Pointlessly. One day at a time— Those pills look just like candy, don’t they?

excerpt from my novel TL Jablonowski (via littlevirtue)

SPENT is an online game about surviving poverty and homelessness. Players must make the difficult decisions necessary to live for one month on $1,000, often having to choose between equally disagreeable options. The game ends when players either run out of money before the end of the month or make it through with money left over.

PLAY SPENT HERE

PLAY SPENT HERE

PLAY SPENT HERE

It's easy to move on when you see them for who they are.

"I’ve never been to war. I can’t have PTSD." Yes, you can.

"I’m not suicidal. I can’t have depression." Yes, you can.

"He’s never hit me. It can’t be abuse." Yes, it can.

Suffering is not a contest. Your experiences are valid. Seek out the help you need.

“Someone somewhere is searching for you in every person they meet.”

— Unknown