Basic writeblr

sometimes all you need is to curl up with a towel over your shoulders after a shower and look up at the perspiring ceiling and see it as stars Sometimes all that you need to feel whole is to see a childhood memory and validate it The stars, and self belonging, look beautiful I am whole

When I am in a bad place, I tend to speak too quickly, with words too sharp. Unfortunately, I am often in bad places.

"Wow, you've written two pages of notes!" I think. It's not much. It really, in life, means nothing. But does it factor in that I had a breakdown a meer two hours earlier? No. Does it factor into account that I had suicidal thoughts? No. Does it factor in that when I thought that, it was the happiest I'd been in days? No. The self that judges does not take into account the whole, just the parts. And the parts, the individual pieces, seem much bigger than they are. The self that judges says "only two pages? You could have done more." It says "you've done nothing for days, you deserve nothing" I say that's wrong I say I'm not ok And that's ok And it's ok to be doing less when you're not ok I can move slowly It's ok Two pages is more than yesterday And that's great! The kind self is one who rarely speaks But the kind self says that it's OK To take a day The kind self says to keep moving However slowly Just a little bit today is ok One day you will move mountains, but today It's ok To write two pages of notes Moving slowly, hopefully, forwards Is much better than staying in place The self that judges does not stop But although it may be quiet A thing which you must lure out, It is ever important To bring the self that is kind to light And give it room to speak Without judgment

man. I'm Upset that in a human world, you aren't allowed to be a human. Doing art or anything else creative is viewed as worthless, if you aren't good enough to make a living off of it. And even then, it isn't considered a "real" job. why. Why must something be profitable for you to engage with it. Why must you be good at everything. I've gotten good at cooking and I enjoy it. Doesn't mean I'm going into food service. I really enjoy writing, and think that I have a lot of fun ideas which I enjoy bringing to life. Doesn't mean I'm going to become a professional writer. I'm sick of profit, but I'm even sicker by the idea that to get what I want, I need to actively make what I do as a basic human being profitable.

There’s something very healing about slowly scooping a spoonful of tea to your mouth and slurping from it. It’s an ineffective way of drinking tea, but it feels nice. Bet I look like a weirdo doing it though.

The sky is as blank as printer paper- a stark white, nothing on it, like what was previously there has been deleted. It’s dull, and makes everything else look dark. But I can also see the garden we have below; it’s bright, a bright green- no, it’s many shades of green, all thrown together onto a canvas. I can see yellow, lilac, a pretty pink, the hidden red behind the leaves of the tomato plants, the dull yellow of the things that are dying, the shocking fuchsia of one garden hose, and the spring green of the other. I can see that the ground, is wet, that the plants, the earth, our deck, is all soaked, dripping from the rain this morning. And I can see birds- Oh how I can see the birds! They are dark darts, flitting through the sky. I can see so many- 10, 20 and on, I can see the birds! And I can hear them too, hear a million little different conversations, so many that I can only imagine what they’re about. The sky may be blank. But there is much life to be seen below it. I know I’ll miss the summer sun eventually, but for now, I can only marvel at the arriving autumn.