Runaway feelings

Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.

Every person has a breaking point. With the right words, they’ll break like glass.

there are thin whispers: don’t get help, they’ll know, they’ll think you’re faking it,  you’re a burden,  they’ll worry and it’s not  fair to them, he’s going to hate having to  take care of you if you’re like this, she doesn’t deserve another problem    my hands hurt and there's  nowhere to turn. my friend posts  about wanting to die and in seconds she is bolstered by well-wishes. my brain spins. how was she brave like that. i keep it all locked up in smiles and  little lies everyone wants to hear. i keep it all closed behind a scream, somewhere echoing in the back of my head.    “see,” i say to myself, to the  great yawn of darkness in me, the breath of the final sleep, “see, she got help,  why can’t we?”   the answer is so silly. so obvious.  it is a terrible spidery hole on the face  of recovery:    if i tell them,  they will stop me.

Human beings are made of water we were not designed to hold ourselves together rather run freely like oceans like rivers

With despair, true optimism begins: the optimism of the man who expects nothing, who knows he has no rights and nothing coming to him, who rejoices in counting on himself alone and in acting alone for the good of all.