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We were young, we didn’t know any better.

I think about this phrase a lot. So many things in our youth were bottled down to not knowing any better. That time we got drunk and stole that TV, or set fire to trash cans and letterboxes throughout the city. We danced around the fire like it gave us life, like it was our freedom, burning bright and soaring into the night. We were young, we didn’t know any better.
Then there were the times where you got too drunk, you said some things you didn’t mean, and threw punches instead of words. You tore through town like a fucking hurricane to find yourself on the bedroom floor with half a bottle of pills in your mouth and a bottle of whiskey in your hand. I never ran so hard in my life. You stumbled down the driveway and threw your arms around me, we collapsed on the rock garden and I propped you up. It was then that I noticed that you had cut your wrists too, for good measure I suppose. I swore I would keep you awake, I told you that you were going to be okay; but i was really telling myself because I wasn’t ready to picture your headstone. But we were young, we didn’t know any better. I remember most of all how badly you wanted to leave. You damn near broke my cheekbone with a hard left as I tried to call the ambulance. But my pain was a candle to the fire that was burning at you from inside. I hung the phone up, I wrapped your wrists and put a cigarette in your hand. We emptied our lungs into the night as the sun came up. We were young, we didn’t know any better.

kalynroseanne:

Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened every day and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breath in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.

I am yours, before I am anyone else’s.

I’ve broken so many promises to people who meant the world to me. So I made a promise to myself that you would mean more, you would be more than my world. You would be all the stars in my nights sky. Burning bright with the light from thousands of years past. You would be my proof that we can look into the future and still see beautiful things. As day clears the night and the stars fade away, you remain, shining so brightly; you rival the sunrise.

I’ve cast people aside after broken promises and so I vow to you. I am yours, before anyone elses. I’ll chase you like the sun chases the night across the sky, and I’ll never let you go.

So I started a Facebook group for people in Australia with cars like mine. Expecting about 5-10 people to join. A few weeks later and 50 members strong. We have stickers!!!

Another great day in Newcastle.

I carved your name into my bones. Like the canvas that’s been painted anew; the world will never know the reason behind the art. But it’s still there, demanding that the painting be beautiful despite what it has left behind.
I demand to be felt.
We see the world through the screens of our phones and so we are left with photographs instead of memories.
I demand to be felt.
Anonymous
asks:
Ive just spent the last 3 hours reading your blog. Oh my god some of your writing is so heartbreaking. How have you dealt with it all? My boyfriend has been diagnosed with depression and I want to help him. But I dont know how. Sometimes it feels like he doesnt want me around.

Hi, and thank you for taking the time you did! Im sorry to hear about your boyfriend, let me tell you something.

When I was young, I used to pull apart my toys, just so I could fix them again. Every time I accidentally broke the arm or leg off of one of them I would surgically re-attach it with a combination of scotch tape and putty. When I was thirteen, I thought that I could do this for my friends, I thought that with my words and my love, I could fix their sickness. She unzipped her forearm and I held the wound shut. I told her she would be okay in the same way that my toys would be okay with the tape around their arms; that is to say, they were held together, but never complete. She went into hospital, it would be eight years until I saw her again. She was the first good thing I couldn’t fix. She was nothing but a friend to me and I never wanted more, but I wanted her to be okay. I saw her again after eight years and she had survived adolescence , but she will never be okay.

Please understand; this is not to say that we are not needed. But, she never needed me to fix her. Because people are not things that we can fix, we cannot pull them apart at the seams and put them back together, we can’t restore them when they break themselves, or when they are broken by others.

But we can help. We can help as much as we can by being there when we are needed, and not saying a word when all they need is silence and a place to rest their head. Thats all I can say.

Sometimes. Just sometimes. Newcastle isn’t so bad.

Sometimes. Just sometimes. Newcastle isn’t so bad.

i3tyler:

maddehhey:

oprahsmom:

toocooltobehipster:

how is he posting this from 4 months in the future

this was taken in February

americans

I’m American and at my school we do MM/DD//YYYY so fuck you and your stereotypical ways

EXACTLY! The rest of the world does it DD/MM/YYYY, Because we are normal enough to recognise that it Should be that way.

i3tyler:

maddehhey:

oprahsmom:

toocooltobehipster:

how is he posting this from 4 months in the future

this was taken in February

americans

I’m American and at my school we do MM/DD//YYYY so fuck you and your stereotypical ways

EXACTLY! The rest of the world does it DD/MM/YYYY, Because we are normal enough to recognise that it Should be that way.

I remember trying to write exactly what it felt like; I wrote about knives, I wrote about drowning. I wrote about everything I had never experienced to capture the one thing I had. It felt like shit. But it didn’t matter what it felt like. What mattered was what it actually was. It was the worst time of my life and I wasn’t even there to see it. I was somewhere else in my mind while my body died. I didn’t care about anyone in my life and to be honest, those people died back there with me. I’m awake now and right where I need to be. That’s all I want to write about.
I demand to be felt
This is not to say that you aren’t special; this is to say thank god you aren’t special!
Neil hillborn
We were supposed to feel invincible, we were supposed to take risks and do drugs, we were supposed to drive fast and throw the first punch. Then all of a sudden, you’re twenty-three years old and your hands still shake when you have a drink. Your knuckles ache when its cold. Everything you have ever done is reminding you that you were not invincible, you were just borrowing days. We romanticised our own pain and suffering and now we’re just so sick of dying that we tell ourselves that our best days have already passed. It’s not that we want to die. It’s that we think we already have.
I demand to be felt.

sportsgoth:

"wow I’m really stoked to see what this 9th grader has to tell me about how the real world works"

- me every single time I come on this website

God I love this puppy

God I love this puppy