Awesome shit

And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.

being mentally ill + suicidal at a young age (before 18) is. strange, because you grow up with this idea that one day you’ll finally snap, turn off, be brave enough to kill yourself, so you don’t really plan for the future. adulthood- further life, it isn’t for you, nor do you feel included within the future of it. it isn’t.. it isn’t part of your life plan.

I think about dying but I don’t want to die. Not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic. There’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out of it.

Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible.

I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.

I’m fine with being alone until I get into bed. I want to reach across the sheets and feel the girl I love next to me, to wake up with her in my arms or her arm draped over me. I want the late night talks about our childhoods where we have to cover our mouths so the rest of the world can’t hear us laughing and falling deeper in love. I want the bickering over who has more room and her telling me she wants to be big spoon for a change, and I’ll cave sometimes because she’ll know I can’t say no to her. I want to feel safe. I want to feel like I’m not alone anymore because nothing else matters besides the heartbeat of the girl I love laying next to me and the taste of her lips. I want to give her everything I possibly can to make her happy and to be there for when I fail and she needs someone to share the pain with. I want rough sex after a day of stares and wandering hands, I want sweet passionate sex when neither of us can sleep. I want to crawl into bed and find her reading her favorite book or watching her favorite movie and simply lay next to her or rest my head on her lap. I want all of it.

This goes for all writing, or for anything you’ve made in general. If you’re about to show something to someone don’t say “I don’t like it” or “It’s not that good”. This isn’t just about confidence, it’s about professionalism and respect. I’m taking time to look at the thing you made, I don’t want to hear your low opinion of your own work. I want to hear “This is the thing I made, tell me what you think please and thank you.” Because that puts the focus on your work. Saying stuff like “I suck at summaries” tells me