1. When you’re outside in the middle of the night with your best friend burning the old pictures you have with him and the poems he wrote you and the little teddy bear he won for you at the carnival that you’ve slept with for months, make sure you don’t breathe in the smoke because you’ll cough so hard you’ll throw up and then you’ll be left crying and shaking and wondering how he still manages to make you feel sick even though he’s not around anymore.
2. Delete his number so that on the nights when 8 shots still don’t taste like enough to stop the aching and your blood turns to liquor and you let the alcohol fill your lungs till you choke, you won’t call him to save you because he’s not going to come and when he sends you straight to voicemail you won’t want to be saved anyway.
3. It’s okay to cry but when you’re pressed up against the wall screaming into your knees at one in the morning, hair in your face, blood on your bedspread, don’t let the tears tidal wave through your teeth and hit your tongue because you’ll taste him again and he’ll stain your mouth and god that hurts more than anything.
4. When you were sad, you two used to go up to your roof and light matches and toss them down and watch them burn out the way you wish your problems could. Don’t go up there for awhile because when you’re sitting there and you turn to kiss him and remember that he’s gone you’re going to want to burn yourself to the ground and disappear like the matches you’ve been throwing
5. Read a lot of books to keep yourself busy. Fall into the words instead of falling into him. But jesus christ stop picturing him as the boy in your novel. You can’t let him seep into everything, it’ll kill you.
6. When you go to the beach and the water mixed in with the grey sky reminds you of the way his eyes looked when he was falling asleep next to you, try not to drown yourself.
7. Kiss the next boy who tells you that you look like death, go to bed with the one who tells you you taste like sunshine. It’s okay to fall in love every weekend. It’s okay to forget the way he made you feel. Not everyone will hurt you. Not everyone will leave.
I don’t care that you got into drugs for three months straight, or how much sleep you lost in that period. I don’t care that you went home and fucked that person and woke up at 6am hating everything about yourself, or that you smoked so much you sounded as though your lungs were giving out.
You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.
You’re just human, and being human means you need to survive and you do so whichever way you deem fit, fuck everyone else.
The second time I overdosed,
my body couldn’t handle it,
and I threw it all up.
I texted my dad saying,
“I think I took a little too many pills”.
And every time I’ve overdosed,
I always downplay it.
I’ve always tried to act
like it wasn’t a big deal.
That having the urge to swallow a whole bottle of pills
was something daily that normal people do.
My dad hurried home and saw the empty bottle
and he shook me to make sure I was awake.
I kept mumbling “I threw it up.. I threw it up..”
while I was drifting off to sleep.
He had to wake me up every 15 minutes
to make sure I was okay.
Let me tell you now,
it is a big deal.
The third time I overdosed,
I slept through first and second period
and passed out in the counselor’s office.
I didn’t want to go to the ER.
I just wanted to go home.
All I wanted to do was sleep.
Again, I just said,
“I think I took too many pills this morning.”
The fifth time I overdosed,
my dad found the empty pill box.
I hallucinated, I had a fever.
I couldn’t move my legs.
All I could do was scream,
“Don’t take me to the hospital this time.
I don’t want to go!”
I became friends with a girl who had overdosed
she’s one of my best friends now
and when I heard she was hospitalized as well,
it just makes me realize how real this problem is.
A couple months ago, another friend of mine overdosed.
Do you realize how fucked up it is,
that I’ve done it so many times
that I know the exact procedure that she’s going to go through?
She messaged me saying,
“I took a bunch of pills,
but I just realized I didn’t want to die.
I don’t know what to do.
And I’m screaming at her over the screen
that she should throw it up and call 911
because sometimes when someone you love
decides that they hate the world,
that’s all you can do.
You can’t teleport through the phone.
You can’t travel through the internet.
You can’t be there to hold them
and take them to the hospital.
Your love is not charcoal that can
absorb all their poison in their life.
I know, love that you would have done all you could.
Sometimes words aren’t enough.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
Sometimes a person needs to try dying
to know that that’s not really what they want.
There’s nothing you could have done.
You’ve done all you could.
Just keep loving them.
But you see the thing is,
I got lucky.
I’ve made it back from 5 overdoses
without a scratch on me.
But that’s not always the case.
My favorite teacher’s stepdaughter
locked herself in her room and overdosed.
To this day,
her stepmother still has a scar on her heart.
To this day,
on the anniversary of her death,
her stepmother still stays home from school
on the anniversary of her death.
Her sister is in a bad mental state,
and so is her biological mother.
Her family has fallen apart.
You overdose because you think
you will get a peaceful release from death.
It’s not peaceful.
It is not like falling asleep.
It is convulsions, vomiting,
muscle spasms, fevers,
and sharp stomach pains.
An overdose is not instant.
Hollywood has you believing,
that an overdose
is how a lady should exit the world.
As quiet as she came in,
Peaceful and unnoticed.
You will go out kicking and screaming
and wishing you hadn’t taken them.
6:03 p.m. (I think I’m done overdosing)
Dedicated to Rae(via iamanantichrist)
have no future. I just keep getting made fun of. I keep getting called stupid. They keep pointing out how fat i am. My mom doesn’t care about us; she’s leaving again. She never leaves food or anything. I wanna starve anyway. I hope I die soon. Or at least wake up in the hospital. I hope she gets put in jail soon. My brother is left with his friends. I might end up hurting myself later, I got enough scratches from the cat anyway. She yelled at me and threatened to hit me when I said “okay bye”. She annoys me. People annoy me. She said we aren’t allowed to even touch her phone, not even to talk to my dad. She still says she doesn’t care about us and that I’m a lost cause. She says that everyone leaves because nobody can stand me and they wanna get away from me. I got to talk to my oldest brother while I was with my dad and all he did was make me feel bad. He kept asking why I don’t love him, what I’m even doing with my life, why am I going to a charter school, why I’m bad, if I’m gonna be somebody in life, etc. I just handed the phone to my dad and he asked him why I got mad and “yelled” at him. My younger brother keeps saying I’m not gonna graduate, that I’m a loser, that he’s gonna have to support me. Now that I think of it, what will graduating get me? I’ll still be that same piece of shit that came into this fucked up world.
Most people just walk by and dont acknowledge me. Know what’s funny yet depressing? When people don’t even acknowledge you in a dream. All I feel is empty, and I’m shaking, and sobbing, and I don’t wanna be here anymore. Let me die.
Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.
This is an answer to so many of the questions I get.
"wake up we gotta go"