I cried when I saw all the yellow flowers placed around campus today. Not for those who were injured, or died, but for the humanity and love that came around after. I don’t know what that says about me.
Posts tagged text.
MY ROOMMATE WAS LIKE OH I CALLED NEIL GAIMAN A FEW DAYS AGO AND HE’S COMING TO CAMPUS ON MONDAY. NEIL FUCKING GEIMAN GUYS. NEIL GAIMAN CASUALLY VISITING BECAUSE OF A PHONE CALL. JUST CASUALLY TALKING TO NEIL GAIMAN OVER THE PHONE.
Goddammit Harvard, Neil fucking Gaiman .
Everything that reminds me of you hurts, every time something about you is reblogged, every time your mother says hello. Every time I see something as simple as a bag of groceries, I remember you. And it hurts a kind of pain that you can’t materialize, it pangs on the inside and you feel like you’ve lost a marble in a hollow, empty stadium, just rattling around.
And that’s why any physical pain is better, because at least you know that one heals. And when I think of you I just want to bleed, and ache, and starve, and bruise. Anything, anything to feel alive.
if you wore a uniform, you’d look more like a stripper wearing a costume than an officer.
I had a chat with my dad today, just about life. And mentioned I had to go to dinner to make a meeting in half an hour, but he just kept talking. And then went on to ask if I had a boyfriend or gotten skinnier, and the response was no, and he just went, “Well, you’re wasting your time, aren’t you?” and I was just a bit saddened by that but then he hung up on me because he had a patient calling on the other line.
This is why I don’t voluntarily call my parents, I like them to be surprised by what I’ve done.
for you to
one more day
because it’s what
we do we just wait
for the other to come
back except this time you
might never i just know that
if i died today the last
thing i would do is
see if you even
cared the least
It’s been a fucking fantastic day. Actually, it was pretty shit, but it was fantastic in the last five hours or so.
I’ve been reading this book called The Lab, by David Edward, brain whiz extraordinaire, crazy innovator, really high level thinker, inventor, etc. Anyway, he has a class called Engineering Science 20, in which students essentially come up with these brilliant ideas, turn them into real things, and go off to do their start up companies and etc.
He’s like the Douglas Hofstadter of this generation. But not with music, math, and art. More like biotech, art, and social innovation. So in his book, he features a 2007 grad named Hugo who was in his class, and their project for the year was to work on the LED presentation in London’s 2012 Olympic ceremonies. Apparently this group decided one day…hey, fuck light the London Olympics, we’re going to light up Africa with this technology. Fast forward a summer and a year, and they’re actually doing it.
Back story aside, I’ve been super excited about it, and then met this guy at an Eliot house dinner tonight. His name is Hugo, I’d heard about him before from J because he’s South African, and for some reason didn’t put two and two together until I’d left.
tl;dr, I met a guy I’ve been reading about for the past week. It’s definitely one of those Harvard moments.
Also Libby Larsen was on campus and gave a talk, love her pieces.
Wheelchair America Road Trip
Awesome, awesome project by a couple of classmates. Such a vision, can’t wait to see what they do.
My foot got run over by a car. Fun times. But its not funny colors so I’m guessing it’s not broken or fractured, but it might be.
I’m just so angry at how slow I’m moving.
Anonymous asked: Why do you cut? It's really fucked up, whats the mentality behind it?
It is fucked up. It’s an addiction, really. At least for me. It works just like any addiction does, mentally. Trigger warnings ahead.
Release of chemicals, overwhelming euphoria and adrenaline. Your heart rate goes up in anticipation, your fingers start shaking, and your skin tingles. You mind is going absolutely wild and you know the cuts are going to hurt. But over and over again, metal rippling over skin, a thin strip of scarlet appearing, a thin blade of metal gliding. When you skin goes cold around it because you’ve ripped it apart, when your body becomes a canvas for the most beautiful and grotesque medium. You control it. You are the only one controlling that, that feather fine precision, that sharp intense pain. And when you see yourself bleed, it is confirmation that you are alive, and that you do exist, and that you can die. And you also know that you will keep bleeding, you will hurt, and that pain makes you forget other things momentarily, they let you focus on what’s at hand, it creates a source of stress that is much easier to deal with than anything else that’s bothering you, because you’ve dealt with this before, and because overtime, this will heal. Whatever else that drives you to do this might never heal, you have no idea what might happen with that, you have no control over the universe. But at this moment in time, your body and what happens to it is solely yours. Solely yours to abuse, and nobody else’s.
It’s power. It’s a heady rush of power. Because other people can and will and have hurt you, but you can do this, you can control this hurt, and you have a fighting chance and controlling being hurt by someone else.
It’s insane. And it’s terrible and disgusting and I hate it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t try and fight it all the time.
there are moments where I look back and realize what a shit person I was to you and then I’m not surprised at how things turned out and it makes everything hurt more.
I think it’s safe to say things like this now on my Tumblr, I don’t think you read it anymore. In a way it makes me happy, I don’t have to filter things anymore. But in a way it makes me sad. It’s simply another box of me that you’ve sealed with packing tape and pushed to the nether regions of your mind, left to collect dust, old memories that you might one day open again.
And so I suppose I can finally say all the things I’ve been aching to say to you, but never will in person. Maybe it’s because I’m a coward, or maybe because I know it would be of no use. Because the questions I will ask will never get answered, and even if you did, I wouldn’t be happy anyway. And that’s the grand sum of what we had; me not being happy with it anyway, because I didn’t know what I had was happiness.
Someday I might get over you. It was not today, it probably is not tomorrow. And quite frankly, part of it is probably because I’m not letting myself. As if I did, then the last part of what I have of you would crumble away into nothing, and the last shimmer would disappear. I never thought you of all people would break me like this, and I never thought I would let someone like you do such a thing.
But it’s because loving someone is agreeing to being hurt by them, isn’t it? That’s something you understood so well. It’s something you let happen, stoically just saying “It is what it is” whenever I obviously did something to piss you off. And it was a lesson I learned far too late. I don’t have anymore faded dreams or fairy tales of happy endings, I gave up on those long ago. But I’ll never give up on you.
And that sucks, I can’t even begin to tell you how much it sucks. Because there isn’t any reason a simple hello from you should be able to topple my world, there isn’t any reason I still think of you when loving someone else, and there isn’t any reason to believe that I would do anything now and always for you.
Because you hardly acknowledge my existence and I’m less than a stranger to you. Because your small bits of contact are like table scraps I’ll beg for like a stray puppy. And I hate stray puppies. And I hate myself.
I’m so glad you’re happy, R. Really, I am. I’m glad things are going well, I’m glad every time I hear of you it’s always good. god knows you deserve it. And I’ll always be happy for you, whatever it is in your life, if things are going well for you. But goddammit I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I still can’t see my future without you. But I’m lying to myself every day, because you sure as hell aren’t in my present, and you sure as hell don’t see me in your future.
I thought we were something special. But I was wrong, it was just you that was special.
the last time
i really did either
i thought i