Alex. 21.

Non binary. Artist. Charcoal. Whiskey. Paradoxes. The Smiths.

Still struggling.
"If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: We all want everything to be okay. We don’t even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding. We will happily settle for okay, because most of the time, okay is enough."


David Levithan, Every Day (via quotethat)

(via skyisland)

armadillo:

REAL TALK IF THERES A FIRE AT MY SCHOOL I AM NOT WALKING IN AN ORDERLY FASHION AND THEN GETTING MY NAME MARKED OFF IM RUNNING FOR MY LIFE AND IM TAKING MY GOD DAMN BAG WITH ME 

(Source: bastille, via thefuuuucomics)

10. August 2014

I have been thinking lately about unhappiness. I know that sounds odd. Usually I just experience it and never think about it, as most people would, I expect. If I plough through it then I don’t need to think about it because I am living seemingly normally regardless of how I’m thinking about things. However, when things stop on all fronts I do start to think about what, and why, I am actually doing anything.

I do often ask myself why I am still alive. Well, I’m alive because I fulfill all the necessary needs my body requests. I work on instinct. These past few months though, I haven’t been able to do much else other than work entirely on instinct. When you realise you’ve worn yourself down to what is essentially a pouch of skin plodding through the days on evolutionary auto-pilot, you do become quite despondent.

I suppose I always feel like I’m not suited to anything, or any place. I’m probably unusual in the respect that I don’t believe myself to be a fundamentally unattractive, uninteresting person. I fully acknowledge the good characteristics I possess. It’s just the disparity between my “potential” that seems apparent to others and what I am actually capable of in reality (reality being, having a realistic chance of “succeeding” in a morally bereft, neo-liberal and psychopathic society) ..it unsurprisingly catapults me into a perpetual state of anxiety, self doubt, and cataclysmic depression.

Knowing that your future is essentially a choice between shitness and loneliness, or extreme shitness and loneliness due to the severe limitations I have been landed with because of mental illness, doesn’t exactly fill me with hope and anticipation. Having lived nearly 22 years of what has been largely pain and suffering, also doesn’t exactly fill me with fresh hope for the future. In fact, when I think of the future, a certain witticism by the late and wonderful Dorothy Parker springs obediently to mind - “Oh what fresh hell is this?” (I say to myself when I metaphorically peek around the corner of my future).

The fact I also happen to be a deeply sensitive person who finds “life” an arduous and draining task on the best of days, leads me more and more down the path of self imposed solitude, which, conversely, I don’t actually truly cherish. If I could make myself relish the thought of continuing life and enjoying it’s supposed “bountiful fruits” I would, however I just can’t bring myself to understand the point in existing within a society that thrives on shallowness of character, exploitation, and denigration of the weak and vulnerable.

The thought of another 50 + years on this planet, enduring ever building states of inner tension and turmoil, is, quite frankly, a terrifying thought.

That is enough for now. I have said what I needed to say. If anyone reads this to the end I will be quite surprised, but thank you anyhow.