(Source: themilesunder)

I’ve developed a mean one on my right hand. Probably shouldn’t be pressing that hard.

(Source: celloproblems)

Story of my life.

(Source: celloproblems)

dominoesandcookies:

Absolutely TRUE.

drweir:

Help save Yoshi:
My six year old cat has unexpectedly fallen very ill with a so far mystery illness. We have been hit with huge vet bills which are climbing as she needs a lot of tests and is hospitalised and will need surgery.
If you can help at all with a small gift, well wishes, or just reblogging this post please, we will be eternally grateful.
paypal/email: domina.ilsa@gmail.com
please askbox or email me for my bank details if you are kind enough to want to help us but don’t have paypal.

I’m almost finished my 2nd paper. Then it’s just syntax to worry about. 

I’ve got guac! Homemade!

My TA boss did all of these things basically. SO glad I’m not t.a.ing that class anymore.

(Source: antonyb)

So, I don’t see things anymore. No more shadow faeries in the corner of my eye.
This was a sign to me that I really need to be on medicine. People don’t believe me when I say I was seeing things, probably because I’m so “well put together” and functioning. People don’t believe that I’m mentally ill. 

I’m not curled up on the couch crying. “Oh, why were you depressed?” I don’t HAVE a reason, that’s why it’s depression! Idiots, they make me want to pull my hair out. “Why were you panicking?” No reason, that’s why it’s a panic attack and not “over reacting”. 

People just don’t get it. They think I’m some emotionally fragile, but normal, person. It’s not that I’m abnormal, though. But I am one of the mentally ill. It’s not a label that I ever wanted to have, but it is true. Denying it doesn’t make me feel better, or happier, or healthier. My therapist swears I don’t need medicine. He says my life is different now, and I should be fine. Well, I’ll try to go off them during the summer, but I know that I need these medicines. He says my “seeing things” could have just been my eyes. Well, I went to a fucking opthalmologist first, dumbass, and my eyes are 20/15 corrected and fantastic. 

He’s trying to tell me I don’t actually have bipolar, and that it’s not genetically linked(my uncles, my father, and my brother all have it, although I think I’m the only one with bipolar-2), and that I’ll be fine. I don’t think I’ll be fine, I’ve been in so much pain ever since I was a child and these medicines alleviate that pain. I’m not in that horrible anguish that makes you want to kill yourself. Read that line again. You know who wants to kill themselves? Terminally ill cancer patients and people that are in this particular pain. It’s serious. I’m FREE OF IT, I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to feel that toe-curling, gut-wrenching, head splitting, seductively smooth black morass that flakes away your sanity with a slow burn. I’ve been there for 25 years. It’ll pull me back in. 

I wish he’d understand that. I wish everyone would understand that.