Kelly Jean.

"I was told The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7 She picks the colors and the cake first By the age of 10  She knows time, And location By 17  She’s already chosen a gown 2 bridesmaids And a maid of honor By 23  She’s waiting for a man Who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment” Someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely Someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed Someone Who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen To be honest I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing I have no clue what my wedding will look like But I imagine The women who pins my last to hers Will butterfly down the aisle Like a 5 foot promise I imagine Her smile Will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps And know exactly where our wedding is being held The woman that I plan to marry Will have champagne in her walk And I will get drunk on her footsteps When the pastor asks If I take this woman to be my wife I will say yes before he finishes the sentence I’ll apologize later for being impolite But I will also explain him That our first kiss happened 6 years ago And I’ve been practicing my “Yes” For past 2, 165 days When people ask me about my wedding I never really know what to say But when they ask me about my future wife I always tell them Her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long I say She thinks too much Misses her father Loves to laugh And she’s terrible at lying Because her face never figured out how to do it correctly I tell them If my alarm clock sounded like her voice My snooze button would collect dust I tell them If she came in a bottle I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys If she was a book I would memorize her table of contents I would read her cover-to-cover Hoping to find typos Just so we can both have a few things to work on Because aren’t we all unfinished? Don’t we all need a little editing? Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone? Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense She don’t always make sense But her imperfections are the things I love about her the most I don’t know when I will be married I don’t know where I will be married But I do know this Whenever I’m asked about my future wife I always say …She’s a lot like you

Self care is not a bath bomb Nor is it a face mask Nor a sweet-smelling lotion Nor a cup of herbal tea Self care is bathing because you lost count of how many days it’s been since you were clean Self care is catching up on three days of work because you don’t know where your brain went from Wednesday through Friday Self care is doing laundry when you can’t remember what’s clean and what’s dirty from the massive pile on the floor Self care is exercising because it’s the only anti-depressant you have Self care is letting yourself cry for the first time in months when you’ve wanted to almost every day Self care is making yourself dinner when you’ve gone all day without eating Self care is taking a deep breath and sorting through what you need to do It doesn’t come from bath and body works or Lush or Ghiradelli It isn’t cutesy or fun It’s relief It’s responsibility

Depression isn’t listening to Lana Del Rey with a cute messy hair look. No, it’s a fucking crippling fear that you won’t live to see another day. It’s days without a shower and your room becoming an intolerable mess around you. There’s nothing beautiful about depression, it’s miserable and draining. Nothing makes you happy anymore. Nothing is worth trying anymore. Everything sucks and your world crashes down around you. That is depression.