fuck fuck fuck fuck
why is my mind so hard to maintain. why can i be full of energy, warmth and hope and then bam. gone. i’m the worst. can’t look people in the eye. have nothing to say.
i’m sick of this! i feel so down.
(Source: withoutyourwalls, via pretty-procrastination)
thank you
(Source: thelenaubr, via pretty-procrastination)
🍍
It’s been a long while since I’ve been thinking the blog name should be changed. “Maddie on things” does not seem fitting anymore…
Maddie is super rad though \m/
(via heychickabomp)
Q. what did the cheese say to the moldy cheese?
A.you look unwell i will take you to Dr cheese
sitting in bed with tears hot on my cheeks, snot all over my fingers, as I chew at my nails and grab at my skin.
despite all my convictions about people and beauty and what really matters, my head is swimming with dysphoria. it’s so specific and it burns me. I can look past so much, my soft thighs, my stretch marks, the many ‘errors’ of my frame, but it stings when I look down and I can’t come to terms with just being what I am. it’s heartbreaking and frustrating. I am so distressed, knowing that I let something so stupid, so fucking petty and so culture-specific take a toll on me this way. I sit in my bedroom in my house in my well-off boring suburban neighbourhood with food in my fridge and diamonds on my fingers and I cry because my breasts don’t look the way I think they should. they sit where they like and they aren’t full like I am so damn sure they’re supposed to be and they aren’t the shape I think they should be and the sight of them gives me a jolt in my stomach and I want to tear at myself and for the life of me I can’t fucking rationalise these feelings.I think labiaplasty is horrific. It genuinely hurts me to think that someone could be so upset with the way they are, so sure that they are supposed to be something else, look some other way, be different - that they’d let someone take a scalpel to their genitals to nip and trim and edit and ‘fix’. Breast augmentation. I feel less horror towards it, but that’s because it’s so common, I understand, I crave it. and that makes me so angry with myself. I think about other places in the world. places that aren’t here. places that I haven’t been to. people I don’t know. cultures I don’t understand. people that are poor. people that don’t know anything other than nature. people that are perfectly happy in their lives, completely removed from my own, from anything I know. people that don’t see their skin as something that is right or wrong. people that don’t see themselves as something to edit and mutilate and contort to fit a specific mould. people that would consider spending thousands of dollars for someone to cut you open and rearrange your chest horrific, ridiculous. people who see, who understand, life as more than that. our culture is ridiculous. it’s destructive and hate-breeding. why is what we are not enough.
bullshit. petty, petty bullshit.
a moments weakness breaks through the charade that I’m so fine and I’m so okay and I’m so content with what I am.
why is it farce, why can’t you be
why can’t you just hold yourself, stand tall, and not bite your lip in shame
why can’t you trust that it’s okay to just be
I need to be in love with myself because otherwise my thoughts about this world are hypocritical bullshit.People are beautiful.
We are beautiful.
It doesn’t matter what elements of yourself you can’t come to terms with - you don’t need to come to terms with anything
You are what you are
You are
You exist.
WHY THE FUCK ISN’T THAT ENOUGH
I love you.
and it took me to a white page with the words
“Congratulations, you’ve reached the end of the internet”
and all of a sudden I was back on my dash again.
I went back to my blog and the box was gone.
wow
Summer
My lovely followers, please follow this blog immediately!
(via seriouslypsychedelic)
