All I could think after she broke me and left me on the floor was, what am I supposed to do now, how could I possibly move on? She took my heart, my soul, and my world. Then the simple answer occurred to me. I had to do the only thing I could do..slowly pick myself up off the ground one piece at a time and rebuild myself a new world without you in it.
—  one step at a time
Walls Keep Shifting

Summary: Everything is spiraling out of control for Blaine when even his own mind turns against him.Follows the events of fourth season Glee, The New Rachel through Thanksgiving. (AO3)

Warnings: mental illness, suicide attempt, drug use, cheating

“what’s real or isn’t real doesn’t matter here. the consequences are the same.” - House of Leaves

“Are you drinking? It’s not even 4.” Blaine has just walked through the door to find his mother, glass in hand, whisky bottle on the ottoman, collapsed in an armchair in the living room.

She scoffs, “My husband left me. I think I’m allowed a drink.”

Blaine pauses. “Dad left?”

“Don’t act too surprised. It’s been a long time coming.”

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anonymous asked:

I am so sorry I put my foot on a bee and she -of course- left me with a mark on my foot I want to apologize to the bee but I can't so I'm apologizing to you instead - the closest thing to a bee I know

that’s ok, it happens, on behalf of the bee community you’re forgiven. i hope your foot is okay! 

In that single instant, I realized that she was the only thing I had to call mine, yet she was the only thing I needed. She was more than enough.
She’d been a bit angered by her parents the last few days, storming in every room she entered, forgetting to say goodnight/goodbye, showing me that perhaps she’d felt like she could do without me. I didn’t give a flying crap about how many nights I’d spend crying, the number of nights she’d hurt me, or the vicious and stabbing words she’d yell at me in spite of her anger, but the minute she left me, I’d be broken, worthless, and breathless.
Even as she yelled in reaction to her parents’ wish that she’d leave town for good, I sware, that girl was the most damn beautiful thing the face of this Earth had seen. Her auburn, lightly roasted hair, sorta resembling a Snickers bar, gently rested slightly above her hip. Her hair twisted and turned all the way down, but it was beauty, whether she fixed it up or left it alone. Every time she walked out into the radiating sun, a sparkling glitter tinted her hair as if to add more beauty. She was the prettiest thing anyone has ever laid eyes on, 100x more beautiful than all of those Barbie dolls, and as she screamed “I hate you both and wish I could live on the other side of the planet from y’all!” with a raging temper that never seemed to cease, I realized how damned I’d be if I lost her.
One look into her eyes and it was like you were in a new galaxy. Her eyes were as blue as the Alaskan glaciers and as pure as distilled water. One look into them and you were lost, man. I sware. One advantage was I never lost a single staring game with her. Looking into those eyes gave me hope, a reason, and natural beauty. I’d never seen eyes so beautiful that they could move you. I’d never seen eyes so strong that they could pull you into currents, spinning you around in endless circles until you couldn’t even decipher your own thoughts. & I’d never seen eyes so damn soft that they spoke to me- in matter of words, actions, and feelings.
Aside from looks, this girl was still the most beautiful girl. She could take any dress in any damn dress store and make it look stunning, but she could also look at any teardrop and wipe it away with her words and actions. You see, I realize now, as she screams and roars and threatens to break down a door, that it was never about what she said to me. It’s about the way her smooth hand warms my body, one nerve at a time. It’s how she listens to me rant about my bad day and the idiots I have to work with day in, day out while never pointing the finger at me. It’s how when I’m gone, she’s cleaning sheets and lighting candles so she can hopefully tell me how much she loves me. Is she fucking kidding me? So she can tell me how much she loves me? What about how much I love her? What about how often I dream of us, being alone in a bungalow for 2 on the coast of Bora Bora? When I walk in through the door with endless relief and smell the pungency of burning apple cinnamon, I’m reminded every damn time of how much of a bastard I am for never thinking of this shit on my own. & that’s when I realize that the truest thing I’ve ever heard is that if your actions don’t align with your words, your words are useless. I could tell her I love her every day and night, and trust me, I do, but have never shown her. & that’s when I realize that perhaps instead of her parents, I’m the criminal this time- her husband of 3 years who doesn’t even love her.