You can't change the world until you change yourself.
Torres del Paine National Park, Chile.
Love yourself —
when it’s fucking 2 a.m and you’re not even halfway through with your essay that was due last week.
when your mom is yelling at you because your grades are shit
when your dad comes home late smelling like booze
when your dog just died and youre the only one who took care of him
when your brothers girlfriend is cheating on him and if you tell him he’ll hate you
when you lost your best friend to someone you hate
when you think— no you wish that today was your last day,
just fucking love yourself because when every body is too busy trying to fuck up your life you’re the only person that can save you,
your life isnt some fucking john green novel, no one can save you but yourself.
— Anonymous (via highrapunzel)
Tumblr could learn a lesson from this…
We are so used
to the idea of a woman
that the thought
of self love and confidence
I wanna be cuddled right now and have my back rubbed until I fall asleep.
…And please remember that you were beautiful before he told you that you were.
"they’re your family you have to love them"
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.
— It’s not that I don’t love you. (via extrasad)