Maybe you’re scrolling through tumblr to numb the storm that’s raging in your heart and wasting time until you can fall asleep
Maybe you’re laying on your bedroom floor in surrounded by your tears and consumed by your fears
Maybe you’re crying in the shower for the tenth time this week because you can’t face your family or your roommates or your husband or your wife or your boyfriend or girlfriend or yourself with tears streaming down your face
Maybe you’re crying over the same stupid boy for the millionth time and hating him because he’s made it so very clear he’s happy with someone else
Maybe you’re crying because everyone else is married or has a boyfriend or has their life together
Maybe you’re thinking of just ending it all
Maybe the thought of not having to face another day seems like the best option of them all
Maybe you believe in Jesus like I do
But maybe sometimes you question Him and you question yourself and you question your beliefs and you question your faith and you question every. single. thing. that comes into your mind.
Maybe the darkness of depression won today and the light of Jesus wasn’t shining as bright as it has before.
Or maybe you’re spending the evening surrounded by your closest friends and laughing until your stomach hurts or drinking the night away
But maybe, just maybe, deep down you feel it too.
Tonight I cried in front of my mom for the first time in a very, very long time. You see, she struggles with depression too. And I’ve just recently found the strength to talk to my doctor and my boss and my best friends about the darkness that is depression and how it’s overtaken my life lately. But I haven’t told her. I can’t tell her. I can’t let her down. I can’t let her feel like she’s failed anymore than she already feels she has. She held me and I cried and I shook and I got mascara all over her shirt. Bless her soul.
She picked my head up and she said to me, “You are strong. You are beautiful. You are smart.” “Everything will be alright. And I don’t know what that looks like.” “There’s more to life than boyfriends and babies.”
So through my teary, teary eyes let me pick your head up, even for just a moment.
YOU are strong. YOU are beautiful. YOU are smart. I don’t know what alright looks like for you, but I know it will be all right.
Let me pick your head up through a computer screen and typed letters and a very long post. Let me pick your head up because I know heads can get so heavy when they’re filled with sadness and darkness and racing thoughts and brokenness.
I wish I could give you a reason to stay here on earth for just one more day, but I’m honestly struggling to find one for myself tonight. I do know, that whoever you are, where ever you are, you have worth. And I do too. And maybe tomorrow will be brighter. Or maybe we’ll cry ourselves to sleep again. Let’s hold on, together, for whatever reason, for one more day.
Anyway the concept that girls and women are obsessed with beauty, sex, and fashion and don’t care about careers, education, and hard work is both a stereotype pushed onto them but is also based off of truth - since women and girls are trained from a young age to enjoy those things and deem them of higher importance.
However, even though all this is true, if you ever, ever make fun of a female for enjoying the things that they’ve been taught to enjoy, be it makeup gurus or models or girls who pay a lot of money to get their hair done or women who have sex with more than one person, I will find you and personally tell your mother about all the nasty ass things you’ve ever said and dump you in a lake.
Girls and women deal with enough shit for stepping out of that hyper-feminine stereotype without having to deal with it for fitting the stereotype as well. In short, fuck you.
Prayers can’t really break through limbo, through the deepest, moth-eaten levels of hell–not as such. Not in words, exactly. Castiel is dazed in front of Sam’s TV when he hears it, such as it is.
It’s not really a cry, not even a voice. It’s a wave of feeling, of absolute, bone-cracking fear that lurches through him and sets his teeth on edge. His whole body shudders with marrow-deep cold; his attempt to stand up leaves him sprawled on the floor. Greasy nausea twists in his gut even though he is an angel, even though he has not eaten, shouldn’t even feel such human impulses.
Almost immediately, Castiel knows. He recognizes the flavor of hell memories that drove even an angel to madness.
That voice–it’s Sam.
In a fraction of a moment, and with a flutter that rustles the papers on Sam’s desk, Castiel is gone.
By the time he finds Sam and tears the door from the prison in the darkest corner of Hell, he does not know how long the young Winchester has spent in the makeshift cage.
He can’t fathom how many days, weeks, years the young man has been muttering the words he’s rasping when Castiel finds him: No. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. Never let you in. I won’t…won’t…
Since he got his grace back, since he huddled together with the Winchesters to regain his power, Castiel has known: his body is exhausted, his powers failing. Sometimes he wonders if he can even be called an angel of the Lord anymore.
He has never felt as strong as he does when he faces his once-brother, fallen as far as any of his brethren can fall.
Castiel’s eyes shine blue with Grace he thought had long faded, his true form uncurling within him as if from a long sleep, unleashing rage and righteous fury with the kind of power he’s never felt, the kind of power that gave him such hubris after God returned him from the dead. His vessel is barely adequate to contain him.
As he leans over Sam and scoops the boy into his arms (bloody, thin, lost–still gasping I won’t through his ruined throat), his wings unfurl from his true form and wrap around Sam, all six of them.
“I won’t let you have him,” he says, voice foreign in his throat.
Lucifer laughs. “And you, mere seraph, think to overpower me?”
Castiel says nothing more. With a thought, he is gone from Hell, rising through the dark layers and emerging, in a moment, on Earth. He feels the power in him quiet, the light fade from his eyes, as he kneels on the grass, still clutching the bleeding Winchester.
Sam is trembling, gaze distant, but his blood-streaked fingers are locked into Cas’s coat.
Cas lays a hand over the young man’s eyes and watches as his physical wounds close, but he cannot take the other ones, dares not take them without asking.
“You’re home,” he says, “You’re safe, Sam Winchester.”
Sam shakes harder, breaths faint and whisper-like, and he says, “Please, no. No. I won’t….”
And that’s all right. Cas will keep telling him until he believes it.
You call me tonight and you ask me if there’s anyone new.
I tell you that it’s complicated. I tell you about how the person I love, isn’t somebody I can physically touch.
You tell me that maybe I’m wrong. That maybe there is someone much better for me, closer to me in the universe and I actually laugh out loud when you accuse me of falling in love too easily.
You call me tonight and you start telling me about how much we were meant to be together when we both know that’s not the truth.
I tell you that I’ve ran out of apologies for leaving you. I tell you that if we couldn’t make it work it was because there had always been someone much better for you out there. I remind you that you’ve already found her and you can’t stop telling me that I could have been better.
Again, that’s not the truth and we both know it. No matter how many times you say it, it could never be true.
That’s why I left.
Because I could never be the kind of good you deserve.
You can keep telling me that somewhere beneath all the horrible things about me, there is good but we both know that when you reach out to put your hands on it, you end up disappointed. It’s not there. It’s not there. I’m sorry.
this is gonna sound like a Fake Tumblr Story but tonight me and a couple of my friends took the train downtown and were like drinking and smoking and we were outside like on the side of a chipotle smoking a blunt ( as one does) and this cop like walked over and was like “woaah” and my friend who was holding it was like “what do you want me to do with it” bc we werent gonna like, argue with the guy and he was like “throw it down, step on it, walk away” and we did and he like walked us to the corner and he was like “you know marijuana has a smell right?” and we were like “yup sorry thank you so much bye” and he turned away and walked down the street and thats why i love philly
I know today was a bad day for you and you felt like the whole universe was against you. But I just want to tell you that I’m here for you and the universe isn’t against you because it brought us together. Three and a half years later after bonding on this silly website about our love of cats and the unrealisticness of the movie The Vow. After you hit on me and I thanked whatever power for putting you in my path and giving you the courage to make the first move because I was so scared you weren’t into me. You have become so necessary to my living and as cheesy as it sounds you are a part of me. The part of me that demands we take a picture everywhere that we go and then insists we take 10 more because you didn’t like the way your arm looked in the first 9, the part of me that loves bubble baths even though I don’t get the point, the part of me that forces myself to put moisturizer on my face because it’s a big deal or something, and the part of me that loves naps even though I can’t ever sleep but I love them because you love them and I love you. I make fun of almost all of the things you do, I’m impatient, and I can be an ass, but you are the most perfect little spoon and hand holder I could ever ask for. Thank you for being mine and for loving me, I couldn’t be more grateful.
Another pointless gifset of a cute boy talking, sighing, breathing, smiling, sputtering, being awkward, gesticulating, looking around, getting slightly embarassed, being squishably adorable and annoyingly perfect, basically existing (ﾉ✿◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧