Nineteen things I’ve learned before I turned nineteen.
1. Always carry $5 and a lighter with you (even if you don’t smoke).
2. Ask every person you meet how their day is going. Genuinely ask with the soul intention of learning how their day is. Ask the coffee shop employee. Ask the person next to you in line at Walmart. Ask your distant friend. Ask everyone.
3. Take many photos of yourself. Take photos of yourself when you’re happy. Take photos of yourself when you’re sad. Take photos of yourself because there are millions of trees in the world, and we all look at the same sky, but there is only one of you.
4. Stay in contact with your parents. Try not to hate them. They are the reason you have the ability to feel anything at all. Try not to hate your parents.
5. Opening your skin will not set your demons free. Open your heart. Open your mind. Open your hands.
6. Nobody knows anybody completely. That’s okay.
7. Be gentle, but be aggressive. Take a stand. Nobody hears your voice if you stay silent.
8. Respect everybody. We are all humans trying to survive. We all deserve respect.
9. Wearing black will ALWAYS make you feel better about yourself.
10. Always give tips, whether it be a couple extra dollars or a piece of mind. You never know how much you could be helping someone.
11. Change is the only thing consistent in life. Do not allow that bother you. Embrace change and move with life, whichever direction it chooses to take you.
12. Smile often. Smile at strangers. Smile at your friends. Smile when nobody is looking and you’re alone in your bedroom. Smile when somebody is rambling to you.
13. Body image means nothing. Your body is merely just a seatbelt in the car. Your body is here to protect you. You choose the direction you go, and your body will not hold you back. Only you can hold yourself back.
14. Don’t hold grudges. Don’t allow yourself to hate anybody. Forgive them. Learn to love them for the person you never got to see them to be. Believe that a beautiful human exists in that person. Wish them well.
15. Drink orange juice. Lot’s of it.
16. Don’t allow the opinions of others to choose your destiny. We are all simply trying to live our own life.
17. Sing all the time. Sing off key. Sing in a silly voice. Sing like you’re on stage. Sing no matter who is around. Singing is breathing for the soul. Sing.
18. Take time to think. Write your feelings down. Write letters to the people you love. Texting is overrated and not as heartfelt as a nice handwritten letter.
19. Live for yourself. Breathe for yourself. Do everything in your life for nobody but you. This is your life. This is it.
asthma’s been real bad lately.
send cookies and milk and hugs and a cute boy sending those things to accompany me ft a Star Wars marathon
To be honest I’m getting real sick and tired of people asking me what style my art is… it’s my style, my brain junk, my own creativity, my own happiness and/or sadness put into a hard work’s portrait. Sure I might get a little inspiration from here and there but my work is like no one else’s.
westerners are obsessed with the idea of happiness as if it’s a constant state of being. happiness comes in moments. you dont “achieve” happiness. you experience it along with every other emotion on the spectrum. if you spend your life chasing this constructed idea of happiness you will never even be remotely content. work on being whole and feeling everything while increasing the happy moments. stop trying to be a “happy person.” just be a person.
No cutting… and as a reward, I’ll have perfect skin ready for tattoos!
The day exhausts me, irritates me. It is brutal, noisy. I struggle to get out of bed, I dress wearily and, against my inclination, I go out. I find each step, each movement, each gesture, each word, each thought as tiring as if I were lifting a crushing weight.
I love my life, but I also want to bundle myself up into a ball and cry for hours on end sometimes. It’s really hard to have a good time, when at the back of my head, I’m being tormented by the very thoughts of my mother’s disapproval. I wish she could just accept me for who I am.
She claims to love me endlessly, which is what mothers should do. But does she like me? Sure she loves me, but what I’m trying to get across here is, does my mother like me? No!
And that’s probably the most heartbreaking part. Because if you can’t love me for my flaws, then you mustn’t really love me at all! Mommy, oh Mommy, I wish you did, and no matter what you say, I can see through all the white lies, your transparent nothings.
Argh, I can’t stop crying again, life’s great everywhere except for in the home. But this house is not even a home to me, for I am just an emptied out shell, hollow to the core, numb and sad and sorrowful, because I can’t look a particular way without having a family of eyes judging, because I can’t listen to music that expresses how I truly feel inside, without a family of ears judging, and because I can’t simply ask for help without a family of cold shoulders turning against me.
I am different to them, and we all know it. This family is broken and I am the shattered piece, swept beneath the carpet. Hidden away and locked up in the darkness. Shut out and grounded when I try to speak up for what I believe in.
My mother talks at me, claiming that she had a terrible nightmare, that I got a sleeve of tattoos running up my arm. How is that a bad thing? I can’t help myself from feeling offended. That I might love something so much and want it to be embedded onto my own skin, another way in which I might want to express myself, and that she might disapprove of me even more?
"so what if I did?" I mutter under my breath as I shut the door behind me, quickly bolting into my bedroom. I’m shocked.
She takes it as rude behaviour and disrespect, I take it quite abruptly, rather offended as my own mother is living in fear that I might like to express myself.
Long story short. She’s attempting to ground me tonight because apparently I’m out of order.
And here I am, lying in bed, crying because my heart hurts. I don’t think I’d get that many tattoos, but…
so what if I did?
My Mother loves me but she does not like me.
And I hurt.
How could I go out tonight anyways? How can I have an enjoyable Saturday night with the thought of my own mother, tormenting me with this mass of disapproval? I can’t do jack shit right. I work hard all week, and by the time weekend comes, I want to relax and have fun and see friends but fuck something always comes in the way. I’m constantly crying at home, heartbroken and on edge.
As always, I just end up falling asleep crying. I love my life but I also hate it.
Nothing good lasts, there is only darkness.