fickle finger of fate

Name is Abrar, like to read, write and travel. I mostly re-blog on this one.

Writing Blog : mohdabrar.tumblr.com

It has never been easy. When I was sixteen, I knew every potentially fatal thing in my house: Nail polish remover under the sink. Bottle of rubbing alcohol beside it. Hammer in the tool box. Forty foot bridge across the highway. Traffic outside my window.

I thought about slamming my own head against a counter until I lost feeling. I thought about punching myself in the face until I stopped breathing. I thought about running out into the street at two a.m. and waiting until a car came.

I never thought I’d make it to twenty-five. But I told myself to stay. Just for a little longer. Just to see.

So I did. I sat silent amongst my friends, searching for a way to speak. I stopped leaving my house. I swapped sleeping for staying up all night, staring at my bedroom walls. When someone came into my room to talk to me, I started crying. But I stayed. Because I thought, if I plan on dying in a few years anyway, what do I have to lose? And some days I didn’t feel like I was being swallowed whole. Some days I sat by my pool and sang until the sun set. Some days I kissed somebody on their parent’s couch and didn’t feel lonely when I got to my own bed. Some days I listened to a really great song and felt understood, if only for a second.

I stayed. And still I thought about bridges. And hammers to the head. And swallowing acetone to cleanse my insides. But slowly slowly slowly I began to understand that it was okay to cry, and shake, and feel anything but okay. I realized that there would still be days that my fist would rise to my cheek. And still, my face would sometimes resemble a bruised peach.

But now I tear up my lists of potentially ways to die before I complete them. I replace prescription: pills, rubbing alcohol, and razors with memories of the good days. Of holding your hand through the entire state of Oregon. Of running half-naked down a snowy street three New Year’s ago. Of riding go-carts in the Canadian wilderness. Of smoking cigarettes on the beach in San Francisco with someone I met six months ago. If I had left, we would not know each other.

If you feel the same way, stay. For the good days. And the sunsets. And the people out there who understand. Stay because being submerged in black water does not mean you have to drown. Stay. Just for a little longer. Just to see.

Stay | Lora Mathis 

Erase the stigma behind mental illness. Being alive isn’t easy. We all have to help each other out. Losing Robin Williams to depression was a tragedy. Reach out to those around you and always offer help. 

(via lora-mathis)

“Make the first move, tell people how you feel, stop being so scared of rejection, stop feeling so engulfed with thoughts that aren’t even yours, and stop wasting your fucking time.”

– what i needed to hear (via tayelchapo)

trustflaws:

openbookopenlegs:

superawkshy:

goddamnit-shannon:

"Everything in my head went quiet. 

All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. 

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. 

Even in bed, I’m thinking: 
Did I lock the doors? Yes. 
Did I wash my hands? Yes. 
Did I lock the doors? Yes. 
Did I wash my hands? Yes. 
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. 
Or the eyelash on her cheek- 
the eyelash on her cheek- 
the eyelash on her cheek. 
I knew I had to talk to her. 
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. 
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. 
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her.. 
But she loved it. 
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day. 
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. 
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times. 
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked- 
when she talked- 
when she talked- 
when she talked; 
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. 
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. 
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. 
But then.. She said I was taking up too much of her time. 
That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work.. 
When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line.. 
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking.. 
And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. 
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but.. 
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her? 
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. 
I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. 
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. 
I see myself crushed my an endless succession of cars.. 
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. 
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. 
How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe. 
How she blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out-…. 
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. 
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once-he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! 
I want her back so bad.. 
I leave the door unlocked. 
I leave the lights on. ”

This ruined me.

I swear I was having a good day…

This breaks my heart ugh

“Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.”

– e.e. cummings  (via psych-facts)

“One has to take a somewhat bold and dangerous line with this existence: especially as, whatever happens, we are bound to lose it.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche, Untimely Meditations  (via whyallcaps)

“Silence is not silent. Silence speaks. It speaks most eloquently. Silence is not still. Silence leads. It leads most perfectly.”

– Sri Chinmoy (via avvfvl)

  • 14 years old: I'm young but I know what I want. This isn't that hard, I'm all grown up already and have everything figured out.
  • 17 years old: Well, this is a little harder than I thought. School is almost ending. What am I going to do with my life?
  • 21 years old: What the fuck is going on? Where are my socks?

Get out and run.

Do not worry about the rest.
Make running a lifestyle. A daily habit, like brushing your teeth. If you run 300+ days a year, every year, for several years, good things will come your way. Start now. Doesn’t matter if you are 16 years old or 66.

If you want to be a decent runner you must get out and run; the rest is just noise.

Get the running in first— that is the foundation. Then: Eat mostly good stuff. Get enough sleep. Stretch if you want to— or don’t. Lift if you like lifting. Cross-train if it makes you happy. Wear minimalist shoes or big bulky ones, whichever you prefer. Listen to music when you run, or not. You can carry water with you on a long run, or you can go without. If you want to do a core routine, then do it— but first you must get out and run.

Run on trails, or streets, or on a treadmill, whatever works for you. Run slowly. Run quickly. Run up hills. Run in the rain. Run in the snow, the heat, the cold. Run into the wind. Run on the days that you do not feel like running. Run on the days that you can’t wait to get out and run. Run with friends. Run alone. Run races. Run in the country. Run in the city. Run in parks. Run when you feel happy. Run when you are depressed. Run when you have a ton of energy. Run when you are feeling like shit. Run when you feel good. Run in the morning. Run at night. Run before work. Run after work. Run.

– Redditor /u/swarmthink (via jordan-gets-fast)

“When I was eight and got my hair cut short, I cried about it the whole way home. My mom looked me in the eyes and said, “It’ll grow back. It won’t stay short forever.” I wasn’t comforted until it did.
When you broke my heart, I cried about it until I couldn’t. I looked at myself in the mirror, puffy-eyed, with a permanent frown on my face, and I said to myself, “I will be happy again without him. The pain won’t last forever.” It’s been 7 months and the comforting lie I told myself that day doesn’t feel like a lie anymore. The happiness grew back within me.
Everything grows back, nothing is permanent, but it just takes time. It also takes time to accept that. Time is the foundation on which growth is able to be constructed.”

time parallels 8/24/14 (via depresant)

“And all of a sudden,
I felt so small again
Like pieces of me
were being peeled away
one by one, or somebody
was scratching away
at the inside of
my chest. And underneath
my smiles, I cried
a river.”

– e.m.b (via embpoetry)