1. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
    - Psalm 139:14

    (Source: wildnorth, via thatamericanhoney)



  4. You can tell how I am by whether my eyes will meet yours.

    When I am happy and when I am ok, I will look you in the eye.  A spark with catch and our smiles will spread.  

    When I am scared and lonely and hurt, upset and afraid I will have dead eyes.  There is no spark for me, let alone enough left over for you.

    I can pretend though.  It’s been my whole life.  Pretending.  And I get so convincing that I can tell myself anything and even I almost believe it.

    Is it easier to lie to yourself?  How have the stories I told myself as a little girl morphed into the construct of who I am, or not even that, because I don’t even know who I am, truth nor lies, because I used to at least think about it.  Now I don’t.  Now I can’t be.

    Now I can’t know.


    "There are beautiful moments still out there."

    They tell me that, and I believe it sometimes.  Those days with the spark in my eye.  

    "I’ve learned to find myself in what I am, not what I can do."  I wish I knew what I am.  

    But I only know what I can do.

    And not even that becuase every day I need to prove to myself that I can do it.


    And in the same way, and in the same caliber.

    But there are days when it’s too much and I have to push everything away.  And just pretend there’s a spark.

    "Does that mean I’m fake, or does that mean I’m trying."


  5. I look at my life and I don’t know who I am.  I don’t know what I think, what I feel, I can’t see where I find me, I don’t know what I love to do, nor who I love.  I am so afraid I’m just living every day because I set up a way of life that makes it look like I’m ok to myself, to everyone.  And apparently, just like the rest of my life, I’m fooling everyone.  I can’t talk about it all the time, but it’s always there, gnawing at me, biting any interaction with its fangs, begging, demanding to be felt, noticed, dealt with and I can’t fucking psychoanalyze myself every minute so I just ignore it.  I live what I do because I know those triggers are either manageable or non-existent.  I am too scared to change anything because I know the guilt and shame and fear will just set in instead.  So I don’t.  I just numb myself every day.  And then those blessed minutes where I don’t find myself in that state, they end and I feel the pain of sticking the proverbial needle of anesthesia in before I get used to the numbness again.  And then I’m ok.  Right?

    Good e-fucking-nough anyway.


  6. I want to be able to take time to be me without feeling guilty or scared or nervous or anxious about literally everything else.


  9. Day One.  

    Crew Practice this morning.  I did it.  No crabs.

  10. And yet somehow, screwing the Unions, telling the working man he was behind them 100% and then taking away their platforms, their power, their voice… THAT’S being for the little guy?!


    (Source: anti-power, via gooddieyoungthestylishdiehappy)


  11. perseidbadger:

    the best kind of friendships are fierce lady friendships where you aggressively believe in each other, defend each other, and think the other deserves the world.

    (via one-in-the-world)

  14. bofransson:

    Paul Bullard - Blackheath Garden with Plume Poppy

    Reminds me of the larkspur nancy drew.

    (via jesuisperdu)

  15. bofransson:

    John Sloan - Gloucester Landscape

    (via jesuisperdu)