“I’m sick of it I’m sick of it sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick.”
Simone de Beauvoir, from “The Woman Destroyed,” published c. 1967
Etikett: about astrid
Of course, she must be sleeping, sleeping deeply, wrapped in the darkness of that strange little world of hers.
“When she needed help most, she was abandoned—and only when she offered help to others was she beloved.”
— Matthew Quick, The Silver Linings Playbook
I would really like to know what exactly is wrong with me, that makes me so unlovable?
I‘m really curious.
i aim for sweetness and softness to take over my entire being
“Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.”
— Sylvia Plath (journals)
Maybe I should meet one who would know how to love me.
Simone de Beauvoir, tr. by Justin O’Brien, from “The Woman Destroyed,”
You ever convince yourself that you’re so annoying that you’re not allowed to post anything or text anyone because it’s so annoying and by some weird logic you convince yourself that even writing down your feelings is annoying so you feel like you’re collapsing in on yourself and you feel so awful and trapped and alone? because mood.
Sad-looking women in old fashioned dresses, and roses that cry.
Sandra Cisneros, from The House on Mango Street: Stories; “Elenita, Cards, Palm, Water,”
beberequin 