And there was nothing poetic about wanting to kill myself and writing so many suicide notes in my head explaining how sorry I was for the things I did not become. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about crying myself to sleep every night for the past 5 years hoping someone would care enough to save me. No one saved me. No one was going to save me because there is nothing poetic about thinking you can’t be saved. There is nothing poetic about staring at a blank wall for an entire day or smiling and laughing the next and having people think “oh she’s fine.” There was nothing poetic and beautiful about trying to take my own life. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about my mother having a panic attack every time I have a bad day and lock my door. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about me not taking my pills because I don’t know who I am without this sadness. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about having depression and wishing you were dead. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about my depression or anyone else’s depression nor will there ever be anything beautiful and poetic about it.
Fuck anyone that says it’s beautiful//Deeply Feeling Series
yo I feel like im dreamin right now! I couldn’t even remember the name of this book not 2 months ago and something clicked recently that helped me remember the name and with the help of some one donating i found it on ebay for the low, used but pristine condition, hard cover!
let me tell you about this book: i wasn’t even a teen yet when i got my hands on this book so the internet wasn’t even prevalent like that nor was google. this was in the time of search up the damn physical directory yaself, you want images? go to the library or read the book especially if are poor, and im poor so that’s always been my go-to. it was where I met with this book called ‘Discovering The Wonders Of Our World’ and it cemented itself into my life and memory like nothing else.
imagine my predicament here to truly appreciate my appreciation for this book. young ass black kid with clinical depression and anxiety just got took from beautiful Dominican Rep/ Quisqueya unwillingly kicking and screaming to ugly ass NYC, poor as fuck, access to hardly anything, exacerbating the illnesses already there. where to go when sociopolitical climate of then and now tore up communities like mine? shiiiit the books! by chance (I think), i found this book int he library when I was a kid and borrowed it, “forgot” to give it back and it was mine forever… presumably.. until I lost it some years later while moving to a new apartment. never to be seen again. forgotten even. and now it’s back here with me ready to be appreciated in a new light. good god this feel so good! it left such a mark on me that I can still remember some of the images and names of the places decades later.
The reality is, you can never forget your first love. He will always have a particular place in your heart that will never gonna be replaced with anyone you’ll meet in life. You will always remember a bit of him every time you try to love someone new. Don’t be afraid, because it’s normal. Remembering the past doesn’t mean you’re still in love with him, but it means you’re able to recall the lessons life has taught you and the things that made you stronger. And that’s the beauty of remembering, you can choose to look at the brighter side of life. The love you have felt with him will eventually fade, but the lessons will forever stay. So the next time you remember your first love, be grateful. Because it shows you are better and stronger right now.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
There is a silence, because when a heart breaks, the person becomes the definition of emptiness. Even when their world crumbles and falls apart in their hands, it is silent. There’s a cruel realization in heartbreak, and it’s that you know you’re about to live where the sun no longer shines; where you can’t even see that your clouds have gone to grey.