why is living so difficult

@hilarieburton: I remember an early night, you in a backless orange shirt, Greenberg with his guitar and Lee’s dance moves at the Rhino. Everyone was drawn to you. I remember grapefruit vodka shots and conspiring glances and buying our first homes and you crying with me when Scott died and getting stuck in that snowstorm coming back from Chicago, driving home at 2am. I remember hurricane parties and Halloween mischief and shared books and such good gossip and grown up losses and successes. You are multitudes, my friend. You grow lovelier each year and I love that our life are forever tangled. I have been changed by your steadfast friendship. You’re a gift, Sophia. Enjoy your day!!!

LDR Anon

Since you have first hand experience with long-distance relationships, I ask you to reflect on why it did not work. Was it the loneliness? The lack of trust? The slow slipping out of one another’s lives? They are difficult, which is why so many end unless one partner moves to be with the other. 

There is no a doubt in my mind that this rumored LDR is a lie. It makes no sense! I even wrote a 2600 word story with four possible explanations for all the insanity and it being real was NOT one of them.

Were you really happy when you got to see your long-distance SO? I bet you were! I bet you glowed with happiness! With that in mind, go look at pics of the rumored lovebirds and tell me if you sense much comfort, delight, or joy radiating out of either of them. You can see all those things when he’s with his co-star/partner in crime, but barely an ounce of it with anyone else.

The man is busy. He’s shooting a supporting role in a movie between promoting S3 of the show and doing the 10,000 other things he normally does. He’ll have to meet the cast, do a table read(s), have costume fittings, work on stunts, and get settled all before he starts shooting. He doesn’t have time for pretend transatlantic booty calls.

🌸Be kind🌸

Why are the people so full of hate ? Why can’t they be kind to each other,I don’t really understand it and I don’t want to understand it! It has nothing to do with myself but I always see it on the streets or in school… Everyone is different and like/hear/wear something different. Why is it so difficult to let the people live their lives how they want to ? I sometimes see that people look at me as I were very strange just because I wear other clothes then their wear :o (it is just an example, because I have often good experience with that 😊). Or some people get bullied because their are different. Another thing is if u go outside shopping or for anything else their are often people who treat you bad without having a reason for it! So pls be kind to each other and try to treat each other well ! The other persons have also feelings and they also want to live in peace! I only want to say that pls respect and accept each other also if they are different ! If u don’t like them just ignore it! I don’t want to say that everyone is like this 😊 I see and know many people that are very kind and that makes me very glad 💕! I’m so sorry for this serious topic but I just wanted to share what I think with you🌸 🌸I wish u a lovely day/night🌸

Originally posted by himeantoinette


Personal headcanon: the vulcan equivalent of “neurotypical” (as in, the kind of mental structure that’s most common for the species) is fairly similar to autistic in humans. Amanda Grayson (Spock’s human mother) is autistic and that’s why she’s so comfortable living in vulcan society, which most humans would find difficult.

Dear Diary

A/N: I was going to write something else today, but I’m in a crappy mood and I needed an outlet. Also, readers diary entry is in cursive.

Warnings: Depressed reader, negative thoughts, language, fluff

Characters: Reader x Dean

Wordcount: 967

I had searched the entire bunker for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She’s been acting so different these last few days, distant, like she’s been avoiding me. The only room I hadn’t looked in yet was her old bedroom, she hardly spent any time there anymore though, not after we started dating, but I still figured it was worth a shot.

“(YN)?” I tried as I opened her door slightly, but there was no answer. As I stepped inside I noticed a small book that looked like it was just thrown on her bed, it looked so much like one of my dad’s old journals. I sat down next to it at the same time I heard buzzing in my pocket, a wave of relief washing over me when I read the text from (YN)

“Had to get some air. Back in an hour or so

It wasn’t like her to go anywhere without letting me or Sam know. I was about to leave when my eyes snapped back to the journal on the bed. I knew that it would be wrong for me to read it, but for some reason I couldn’t stop myself, trying to convince myself it was okay because I was so worried about her. I flipped to the last page that was written and let my eyes and brain take in her words.

This feels so stupid, but I’m desperate and willing to try anything at this point. I remember someone telling me once that writing down your feelings would help you escape them, so here we go. I’m not gonna start with some ‘dear diary’ shit though. I don’t really know how to start, so I just will.

The last few days has been bad, mood wise. There is no particular reason for it, like all the other times it just hits me like a wall of gray fog, a thick fog that I usually get lost in. Normally I would just keep to myself for a few days, let it blow over, but now that I’m with Dean i can’t. He has been asking me if I’m okay, but I don’t know what to tell him. My body is numb and so is my brain. I don’t want to be around people and at the same time I’m scared to be alone. I have no control over what my brain is telling me today, every thought is negative. I can’t even bring myself to look into those beautiful green eyes that I’ve grown to love so much, the eyes that normally brings me a sense of calm now only fills me with worry. I worry about everything, but most of all, I’m worried he will realise how big of a mess I am, how broken I am. I’m pushing him away, I know that I am, but hearing him tell me how much he loves me just breaks my heart. He is the best man i have ever known. When he loves someone, he does it with every fiber of his being, and there is no way in hell I deserve that. I wish I could be better for him. I wish I could be stronger for him.

Another thing someone told me was to try and find your way back to something that used to bring you joy. If i figure out what that is, I promise I will try it out. Right now I’m out of ideas and I know that if i don’t turn this around soon, my anxiety will just add to the problem. I’ve tried the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ shit, but that always comes back to bite me in the ass. This is ridiculous right? I kill monsters for a living. Why is it so difficult to slay my own demons. Oh.. I just got an idea. Why am I writing this down? How do I end this? Fuck it, I’m out”

I swallowed hard on the lump that had formed in my throat. How can she doubt herself like this? If it wasn’t for the fact that it was her handwriting I would have never believed it was her words. This was so far from the woman I know and love. I was startled when i heard her voice.

“Dean?” when I looked up at her I could see tears forming in her eyes “what are you doing?”

“I.. I was jus..” I couldn’t find words, I knew I had crossed a line. “I’m sorry. I came in here looking for you”

“And when you didn’t find me you decided to read my diary?” She didn’t seem angry, which confused me, I would be angry as hell. I slowly made my way over to her, not knowing what to say or do next. I needed her to know how much she means to me, i needed her to know that this didn’t change the way I see her.

“I’m sorry” I tried as I reached for her hand. When I looked in her eyes i realised that the spark she normally had was gone. I wrapped my hands tightly around her, half expecting her to fight me, but instead she buried her face in my shirt and cried. “Shh.. Shh… I’m here” I whispered as I kissed her hair, feeling her body shake against mine. “I’ll always be here, for you, with you, whatever you need, I’m here”

“I’m broken, Dean” her words was muffled and shaky.

“Then I will help you put your pieces back together” my heart broke a little when she looked at me with tears still streaming down her face. I wish I could heal her.

“Why?” she whispered

“Because I love you” I placed a kiss to her lips, hoping that it would tell her everything I couldn’t put into words.

2 Years

This blog turned 2 years old today. 2 years. 2 years, 471 posts, 16,954 followers … these are the formal numbers. But this blog has meant so, so much more to me than numbers can represent.

These 2 years, most importantly, have taught me that the world is filled with kind-hearted, illuminating, dedicated people. People who care. Although I have offered support to many over this time, my heart fills, overflows, when I think about the support I myself have received through each and every like, ask, comment, reblog. 

Votes of confidence, each and every one. And these moments of kindness have given me the strength to get to the place I am today. Not only to graduate, healthy, but to finally have the self-confidence required to go out into the big wide world of adult life and new experiences. I can’t quite put into words how much this community has meant to me.

This week has been difficult. I have had fairly severe homesickness. There have been so many moments this week where I have felt weak, wondered why I was trying so hard to live somewhere that seemed to be so difficult to live in. I’m not used to this kind of loneliness, the loneliness that comes with true independence and self-sufficiency. It’s strange.

But it’s a process. I love my job, I love the people I am working with. This weekend ended up being incredible. On Saturday I pulled myself together by going to the gym (I did something called ‘Booty Camp’ and it was equal parts hilarious and painful … I will be returning), browsing Broadway Market, before reading the entirety of Bonjour Tristesse in London Fiekds Park until the sun began to set. On Sunday I went to Columbia Road Flower Market, immersing myself in the chaotic yet beautiful setting, then met with my best friend for a fun afternoon at Tate Modern - we had spontaneous drinks afterwards with a much needed talk, and I came home slightly drunk yet completely content. 

I needed this weekend to remind myself why living in London was something I had dreamed about, worked so hard to make happen. There are, and still will be, times where quitting will feel safe, where safety seems like the answer. But sometimes carrying on, being brave, feeling scared is, in the end, the only true option, because happiness, freedom and a sense of self is at the end. 

I’m writing this on the day this blog turns 2 years old. It has been an exhilarating 2 years, but they’ve also been so goddamn scary. I began this blog in 2014 hopeful yet suffering - with my self, with my mentality. I’m here 2 years on having helped people, having been helped by people. I graduated feeling incredible. But these feelings of uncertainty I have right now are familiar, it’s just a different situation. 

Looking back on 2 years, life passes quickly - so quick it’s easy to forget how much progression and adaption is possible. Even though I know the next 2 years will in themselves bring new, terrifying problems, I just hope they bring the same sense of progression, resulting in a renewed sense of confidence and strength. 

- Sarah   

see below for somewhat adult-ing commentary.  tl:dr adulting is hard and i like the rock i’m living under but also what the hell why is work so difficult to get through every day i’m so exhausted definitely going to get my thyroid checked out

oops that’s not a tl:dr

Keep reading

  • What she says: I'm fine
  • What she means: It really bothers me that we live in a society where our value is determined by how well we're able to pass as neurotypicals to the point where it negatively affects my mental health. It's a problem that mentally ill people can't show symptoms without being terrified of having ableist language thrown into our faces and then get told that we're being overdramatic when we don't want to accept that. And why exactly is it that when I mention something positive about my disorder or say that I don't hate having it I'm romanticizing mental illness while neurotypicals can write stories and make movies about Broken People™ being fixed by the love of a good neurotypical person, which is so far from how it works in real life, but whenever I say that to anyone I'm told that it doesn't have to be realistic because it's fiction, even though it's reinforces the idea that I'm broken and that I need someone to fix me in order to get better. Also what is it with neurotypicals thinking that they have the right to speak over us about issues that don't directly concern them? Why are they so determined to make our lives more difficult than they already are?
The Day They Grew a Girl

They finally grew a girl today.

They grew a whole girl from a petri dish, with hair and hands and legs. They gave her a brain to make connections and think with, and a heart to beat and pump blood.
They gave her two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two ears and lots of soft skin.

The scientific community was so proud.

They finally grew a girl today, from bottles and jars. From little colored chemicals.

From almost nothing.

They tested her body, and her intelligence, and her moral sense. She did all right.

And after a while, they threw her out.

Because growing just an all-right girl became of no use to anyone.

Five Things Kurt Hummel Doesn't Have To See

Klaine; 500 words; A03. Written for Klaine bingo (prompt: five things).

It happens so quickly Kurt doesn’t even have time to think about how this is different than getting a slushie to the face. The light explodes backstage, glass flying everywhere. His face feels like it is on fire. There is pain, so much pain, and the sound of screaming. He can’t open his eyes. A panicked woman is patting his arm and telling him he’s okay, but Kurt doesn’t need to be able to see to know that isn’t true.

He thinks they must have given him something for the pain, as he feels fuzzy but able to breathe again. He is lifted on to a gurney and, he supposes from the jerking motion, rolled out of the building. He hears the noise of the street and is told he’s being put into an ambulance. The air is brisk outside and Kurt wonders if his new wool coat is still folded up on a chair in the rehearsal room. It would be a shame to lose it. A voice is arguing and then a door opens; suddenly there is a trembling hand gripping his wrist and a cold nose buried in his neck. Kurt doesn’t need to see to know that Blaine is with him.

Some time later a doctor is talking to him about risks and asking him to consent to surgery to remove the fragments of glass from his eyes. He is not sure why this is even a question, as he clearly has no choice. He can’t very well go through life with shards of glass in his eyes, he jokes weakly to Blaine. I don’t know, Blaine says, trying to play along, maybe that could be your superhero gimmick. Kurt doesn’t need to see to know that Blaine is trying as hard as he can not to cry.

Time passes. Kurt can feel the bed underneath him, the pressure of bandages on his face. He hears an agitated voice talking over Blaine’s strained attempts at reassurance, demanding to know why things like this keep happening, asking why this place of Kurt’s dreams is so difficult to live in. He hears a chair sliding, a rustle of fabric, Blaine’s patient shush, shush,and a choking, desperate breath. Kurt doesn’t need to see to know that Blaine is holding his father tight.

Three weeks later, and Blaine is tucking Kurt into bed, making sure their soft comforter is covering every inch of his body. Blaine slides under the blanket, wrapping a strong arm around Kurt and pulling him close, Kurt’s back to Blaine’s warm chest. Kurt leans his head back and inhales the familiar scent of Blaine’s shaving cream, then turns in his fiancé’s arms to rub his face against Blaine’s smooth cheek. Kurt blinks his eyes open slowly in the dim room, and smiles against Blaine’s lips. He doesn’t have to see Blaine’s shining eyes to know how much love is contained within them, but he is ever so grateful that he can.

anonymous asked:

Why is it so fucking difficult to get them on a live lounge. We've been begging for one for years. And pretty much every artist ever, no matter how big or small, has gotten one except 1D.

What bothers me is that there are artists that are not even good live. I don’t want to say names but there is at least 1 artist whose name is big but she has so many pitch problems. 1D is fucking amazing live. And they are still not doing it. One LIVE LOUNGE performance would save them from 20 boring interviews where they are asked about celebrity crushes, their annual, or what they are looking for in a woman nevertheless.