Whenever my depression hits, I feel like I’ve let my loved ones down. I feel like I’m making them feel bad.
As soon as my attack ends, everything I said suddenly feels so stupid. I can finally see the way I looked through the other person’s eyes. I can see how psycho I must have seemed. How pathetic.
Some people think you’re an asshole, because you’re confident. You’re independent. You can take care of yourself. You don’t take anyone else’s bullshit.
Pick something that makes you look forward to Mondays as much as the weekends.
She would rather suffer in silence, deal with her problems on her own, than drag you into them. She doesn’t want to bother you.
She pushes others away before they can push her away. She would rather hurt someone else than wait for them to hurt her.
They promise they’re not leaving me. I ask for extra validation to make sure they’re not lying. I feel bad for being so much of a “burden,” which in turn makes me feel like they’re going to leave me.
I still refer to your house as your house, even though someone else is living there now. I still celebrate your birthday. I still talk to you, even though my words are aimed at the sky instead of a phone.
The same pharisees and charlatans who couldn’t stand Jesus’ message of love and compassion are the ones today trying to convince us that we should focus more on hating people for their sexual orientation than loving people for being children of God.
And yet, despite this miracle that gave humanity refuge in the freezing vacuum of space, we have turned our planet into a ticking time bomb.