*cringes at 9 year old me*
*cringes at 13 year old me*
*cringes at year ago me*
*cringes at day ago me*
*cringes at future me*
she don’t know yet but when black moms do that, you about to die.
Look at her face, the woman is gonna beat the dog piss out of her.
The finger flicking and chin hold let you know danger is imminent. That baby isn’t old enough to recognize it yet…..
Oh lord. This little girl isn’t ready. She doesn’t understand. Lord forgive her for she is to young. Let her future licks be given as swiftly and as painlessly as possible.
Thermochromic table by Jay Watson
imagine banging someone on that table
imagine being home alone and seeing imprints on that table
Imagine having a friend sit at that table for a long while, but when they get up there’s no imprints at all.
What if you got up after trying to console a crying friend, and found that you had no imprints… and they were crying because they missed you?
aaaah it was a cool table now it’s a horror/drama story
Depression is hard to understand, because it is not a consistent state. Depression is rather like a virus, but like a virus, it has its manageable days and its acute, life-threatening flare-ups. You can be in a depression and still laugh at a friend’s joke or have a good night at dinner or manage low-level functioning. You grocery shop and stop to pet a puppy on the corner, talk to friends in a café, maybe write something you don’t hate. When this happens, you might examine your day for clues like reading tea leaves in a cup: Was it the egg for breakfast that made the difference? The three-mile run? You think, well, maybe this thing has moved on now. And you make no sudden moves for fear of attracting its abusive attention again.
But other times…
Other times, it’s as if a hole is opening inside you, wider and wider, pressing against your lungs, pushing your internal organs into unnatural places, and you cannot draw a true breath. You are breaking inside, slowly, and everything that keeps you tethered to your life, all of your normal responses, is being sucked through the hole like an airlock emptying into space. These are the times Holly Golightly called the Mean Reds.
I call it White Knuckling it.