Fire escapes. Not buildings exactly, but accessories. Iron rods fused into vessels of descent—and departure. Some were painted blue or yellow or green, but most were black. Black staircases. I could spend a whole hour sitting across the street from a six-floor walk-up studying the zig-zags that clung to a building filled with so many hidden lives. All that richness and drama sealed away in a fortress whose walls echoed with communication of elemental or exquisite language—and yet only the fire escape, a clinging extremity, inanimate and often rusting, spoke—in its hardened, exiled silence, with the most visible human honesty: We are capable of disaster. And we are scared.

threedollarwine:

crystalmethalicious:

I don’t think people realise how hard it is to re-discover the person you were before depression or even try to remember your own personality

and if you’ve had depression since early childhood you don’t even know if you have your own personality

you didn’t have time to be a person before depression

and it’s scary having no idea who you are

(via tessa-wow)

On Starting Over

A blank slate. A new beginning. Restart.

We all have those moments when we wish we could just go start over somewhere new. Somewhere nobody knows us and we can be whatever we want. And in that sense, starting over sounds like this incredible new adventure.

But there are some things nobody tells us about starting over.

It’s hard.

Really hard.

Nobody tells us that no matter where we go, we’re still us. We can be whatever we want to be, but really, we just keep being us. We don’t get a new personality or disposition and it doesn’t come with a brand new set of friends we’d always imagined having.

Nobody mentions the nights spent crying ourselves to sleep because we are so overwhelmed with loneliness that it physically hurts. Hurts to breathe and eat and sleep and move and exist.

Nobody mentions that, probably, nobody else is starting over completely. That people already have friends. And that if you were the weird, awkward, ugly girl nobody really wanted to talk to before, you don’t get to escape from that.

Nobody talks about the nights spent alone pathetically doing laundry and watching Bachelor In Paradise, despite the fact that you hate that show, because at least someone’s love or happiness or drama makes you feel SOMETHING.

Nobody says anything about the numbness that sets in when you realize that your new start is exactly the same as your old one. That you felt alone there and you’re going to feel alone now.

Everybody talks about new friends and experiences and adventures and joy.

I can start over as many places as exist in the world, but until I start starting over in myself, every single place will be exactly the same.

When you are attracted to people, it’s because of the details. Their kindness. Their eyes. The fact that they can get you to laugh when you need it the most.

Jodi Picoult, Sing You Home (via bl-ossomed)

(via tessa-wow)

This I No Longer Believe.

I’ve spent my whole life believing that when I meet the man I’m supposed to marry, I’ll know for sure. That when I finally fall in love, it will be a magical experience. That I’ll really, truly fall in love one time, say those three little words, and that will be the man I’ll spend the rest of eternity with.

So, I spent my life falling in practice love with strangers. Waiters, flight attendants, actors, cute boys I passed on the street and in restaurants and had five minute conversations with at the beginning of a class. All of whom I never saw again. I was perpetually falling for my best friends all while remembering that old adage: “You should marry your best friend.” I had crush after crush after crush, none of whom felt the same, writing each off in the end with the words, “One day, I’ll know. I’ll find The One. And then I’ll know.”

When I finally really fell in love, it was magical. 

It was also terrifying and confusing and had more complications than I could have ever imagined. But I loved him. I felt something for him that I’d never felt for any attractive waiter or best friend I’d ever fallen for and I knew. And the best part? He loved me too. I thought nothing could make me happier than hearing him say those words over and over for the rest of my life.

Nine months in, the magic was gone. The fear took it over and I slowly realized that I didn’t love him anymore. It was more than I could accept. I fought for weeks to get back that feeling but I had no idea where it went. I couldn’t find it anywhere. 

He hadn’t done anything and nothing in our relationship had changed. He still loved me. I thought that once I finally fell in love, it would last for eternity. But I had changed.

I have no doubt at all that what I felt for him was love. There is absolutely no other way to describe how I felt. But I now realize, that I may fall in love again. And that love may not last for eternity either. You can love a lot of people a lot of different ways and that doesn’t make any of the other loves mean any less.

He was the first man I ever truly fell in love with. He will not be the last. I know that now. However, I do still believe, wholeheartedly, that one day, I will fall in love with a beautiful man who makes me deliriously happy. And our love will grow and change and deepen as we do.