“If someone were to die at the age of 63 after a lifelong battle with MS or Sickle Cell, we’d all say they were a “fighter” or an “inspiration.” But when someone dies after a lifelong battle with severe mental illness and drug addiction, we say it was a tragedy and tell everyone “don’t be like him, please seek help.” That’s bullshit. Robin Williams sought help his entire life. He saw a psychiatrist. He quit drinking. He went to rehab. He did this for decades. That’s HOW he made it to 63. For some people, 63 is a fucking miracle. I know several people who didn’t make it past 23 and I’d do anything to have 40 more years with them.”—
“But I want to encourage you not to be TOO tough and too perfect. I want you to be open-hearted and unafraid of feeling what you feel, whether it’s sadness or anger. Having hope for the future, to me, depends on being open to the past in all of its ugliness. Letting in the ugliness will give you a richer appreciation of the present and the future. Building a rock solid marriage and a good relationship with your in-laws depends, in part, on not hiding or trying to be better than you are. I mean, you do have to try, around husbands and in-laws. But you also have to relax and own who you are, and allow yourself a little breathing room. It is truly a miracle, how shiny and new you can feel when you’re with someone who cares about you and supports you and doesn’t fucking disappear the second you get a little sniffly. But it’s also unnerving how forlorn you can feel when something small goes wrong—you don’t get enough sleep, you feel passive-aggressively insulted by your shiny new in-laws (hello, universal, shared rite of passage!), you don’t like the way your shiny new husband changes the subject when you try to talk about your crazy mother for more than a few minutes. It’s ok to admit that the past has a hold on you, that it bleeds into your future sometimes. By pointing this out, I’m not painting your future black. I’m telling you that the future will be richer if the past is included there.”—This week’s Ask Polly is about abusive mothers and it’s very, very beautiful (via christinefriar)
“He sank down to the kitchen floor. And I could tell he was feeling a ton of sexy burdens. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and stared up at the ceiling. He clenched his jaw. He twisted a bandana in his manly hands. He punched a hole through my cabinets.”
You think you shit glitter, but you're nothing but a fish-lipped dirt squirrel living in a gated community of idiots. You are an emotional vampire with an eating disorder and an adderall addiction. You subsist on celery and chaos. If you ever had a conscience, you got rid of it like a prom night dumpster baby. The botox injection sites on your forehead connect to form the shape of a pentagram. I feel sorry for your hair extensions. May your death involve duct tape.