sebastiandebeste-archive-deacti
in fifth grade i drew anime george washington
Human fingers can detect nano-size objects. This means you not only have the ability to feel a tiny bump the size of a large molecule, but if your finger was the size of Earth, you could determine the difference between a house and a car. Source
And yet its still almost impossible to find the end of the tape
cowards. i can already tell the difference between a house and a car
Source: didyouknowblog.com
when you drive your chevy to the levee but the levee is dry and you see the good old boys drinking whiskey and rye
mishjerry
every times this comes around I laugh harder than the time before
nobody likes the “bad boys” who insult and degrade their partners while wearing pastel polos with popped collars, people like REAL bad boys who wear leather jackets and take a lot of care in how they shape their pompadour and carry around stiletto switchblades and care about their communities and ride a motorcycle and rebel against the government and says stuff like “NOBODY insults my gal” and gets in fistfights with dudes who catcall their girlfriends. THOSE bad boys are the guys everyone wants.
there’s honestly nothing worse than an apple that’s not crisp like don’t come near me with that grainy soft shit, that weak ass crunch i’d rather die
this is an anti-red delicious apple blog and if you don’t agree you can block me right now
if you want the rewards of being my lover you must submit to the mortifying ordeal of zigazig ah
tomfordvelvetorchid-deactivated
Seemlessness
Their voice is so wonderful. I would really really enjoy listening to them read just about anything. Their diction and the exactitude with which they choose their words is so soothing and enthralling and I can’t stop listening to it.
The thing that always gets me is how we still frame the idea of trying to be a good caring person as a huge laborious inconvenient inherent sacrifice instead of deeply comforting and rewarding and beneficial to one’s own self and a fundamental human need. Like joke really is on us, the loneliness of modern life is not mysterious.
I’ve been reading a lot of books about Borderline Personality Disorder lately (and learning a fuckton) and I’ve been in nonstop treatment since I was diagnosed (about four years now) because I so desperately want to get better. And I know that relative to the average case of BPD I am SUPER healthy and successful, and I know that I’m approaching the fourth stage of Dr. Linehan’s model of recovery and literally I can’t explain in words how much that makes me cry with relief. But all this said, I still feel like I won’t be fulfilled until I feel loved. But how the fuck am I supposed to make that happen? I can work on my DBT skills until the end of time, I can learn how to improve my interpersonal skills and regulate my emotions and how to cope in healthy and effective ways and I can find the right combination of medication to manage my symptoms as much as possible, but I can’t make anyone love me. I can’t do that. And I hate feeling like my happiness or fulfillment is in the hands of someone else because everyone I’ve given my heart to has shattered it, has abused me, or manipulated me, or taken advantage of me, or has made me feel pathetic for giving them so much love when they won’t give it back. And further, I hate feeling like me, this entity, this body, and this mind, is not enough in and of itself; that I would need another person to make me whole.
It’s something I’m working on in therapy right now.
Samantha French, Hold Your Breath / Liu Xiaodong, Relaxing in Water / Betty Goodwin, Swimmer
