It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via girlchoking)

dpicchiophotos:

I had my boyfriend who smokes use matches for a few days instead of a lighter and record the date and time and whatever he was thinking about while smoking. 
It’s funny that he quit smoking a few weeks after this project. 

dpicchiophotos:

I had my boyfriend who smokes use matches for a few days instead of a lighter and record the date and time and whatever he was thinking about while smoking. 

It’s funny that he quit smoking a few weeks after this project. 

Realized how well I’ve taught myself to switch off and let my conscious fade away when things are bad. I’m not existing and it’s the most marvelous feeling in the world. I barely hear the shouting and the screaming, and the ones in my head shut up too. There’s hurt and brokenness everywhere I look but I just feel numb. Everything is falling apart and my olds are on their way to breaking up but all I feel is empty.

Too many people do good things because of their want of heaven and their fear of hell. Humanity is based on desire and fear, not love. How can you go against the basis that humans do something for self-gain? We will always have this mindset that we are rewarded for our kindness and punished for our evil, so our character is built on that.

I want to do good because it is good, and because it is human. I don’t want to be tied down to a bigger entity that rewards me for being good.

I want to be able to justify my own evil. I want the guilt and the sickness to the stomach of doing another human being wrong. I don’t need a fear of punishment to know my own sins. I want to be able to say sorry because I am sorry, not because I am scared if I don’t repent, lightning will strike me.

God is great and I love him because he gave me this life. But I want to be human on my own terms.

To my brother

It was “You’ll turn into a fuck up like your sister” and now it’s “you’ve already turn into your sister” and this just hurts more than anything in the world and then I start thinking maybe I’m better off being not around. I was never around much anyway. I never meant to be a fuck up but that’s too late. and tbh you’re not like me, you have a clearer mind, kinder, more patience than me, more selfless. Everything I’m not, maybe. And mom, I love her, is temperamental and insane at times, something not everyone knows how to handle. I definitely didn’t know how to handle it. I could never be what they wanted me to be. I wasn’t cut out for it. And I ran away from everything, from doing the things I had to do, as soon as I realized this. I knew I couldn’t handle her. We’d burn the house down. So that’s why you became the one she depended on, and I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry.

I’m starting to think that things are hard, and then they’re okay, and then they get hard again and then it gets a bit okay and then it gets so fucking hard then it never becomes okay again. There are moments when they’re okay but these are just fleeting, like pauses before the song starts again. I sound like I’m describing a boner a bit though, except it doesn’t stay hard continually.

'Why is it,' he said, one time, at the subway entrance, ‘I feel I’ve known you so many years?’
‘Because I like you,’ she said, ‘and I don’t want anything from you.’

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (via larmoyante)