"It is August: the true ending of a year. I've grown sick from trying to love who I am."
-Carlie Hoffman, from "High Bridge Park," published in Gulf Stream
𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹
[ID: July 19, slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life. END ID]
Virginia Woolf, from To the Lighthouse Susan Sontag, from Reborn: Early Diaries 1947-1963
it isn't that i'm godless or supremely powerful. but there's a black dog in my heart. i picked him up from the library and stashed him under my childhood bed. he grew strong in the shadows, living off of my dread. in the bitter hours when it is only the moon and i, the black dog goes walking; his eyes all blue flash in the starlight. stalking at my heels. quiet, patient, reserved. the black dog is not a warrior, not a great wheel of fire - but he is not small, either. and he is good at waiting.
i have spent a life in a flinch. i am tender and i am trying constantly to be perfect. i am an error of a person. i am scattered over my floor. i stumble away; i have no home. i would rip my seams for a single note of love; i set no boundaries and claim no needs. i let others take whatever they want from me.
the black dog puts his head under my hand. he noses my little carcass over every morning. he pushes his body against the back of my legs, gets me to stand and start walking. the black dog makes sure i eat. he stands at the corner of the room, watching.
i spend months locked in a shiver. i expect no one to see me as dangerous. even i don't take myself seriously. there is nothing particularly special about my existence.
but once in a while, the black dog remembers the darkness; where i have fed him every memory and scrap of my innocence. the black dog remembers what it took to get out of the rabbit snare. the black dog remembers how long we have been trudging.
when it is too much. when she tells me what her boyfriend did. when my house is full of yelling. when the dark gets slippery and a man at a bus stop whistles and follows me. in that moment, the black dog curls into me. up my throat. out of my teeth. the partner to my won survival: the welcome warmth of a true and patient fury.
in that moment, love. the black dog howls through me. the word is not-quite feral. something raw, undulating, less pretty. something like - i have been stalked and hurting and hungry all these years of my life.
and now it's time to go out hunting.
cuerpossdeaguaa-deactivated2021
te juro que mi aparente mala onda es solo tristeza
sometimes I see pictures from when I was younger and it makes me wonder why I spent so much time hating myself. sweet little baby me. I was still growing. I was still learning. I was still getting used to my own skin. I didn’t deserve that
oasisazul-deactivated20220825
mereces q te traten lindo, sobre todo en esos días q te duele alma y no tienes ganas de existir
the year is 2026. you're getting married to your wonderful partner. it's the happiest moment of your life. as you say the vows and kiss as a married couple for the first time, you freeze in shock. you see him in the crowd
“a guy once told me “a man is only insecure about a woman when he knows she deserves better” and that really hit me”
— lieinlove
