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)

     
  2.  

  3.  

  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.

    But.

    "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.

    Again.

    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.

     
  7.  

  8.  
  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?!

    No.

    (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)

     
  12.  
  13.  
  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)