while I was walking with my mom to our RV, from the river.
Me: “Naw, uh-uh. Look at this bird, hopping around like he own the place. Naw. We ain’t gonna have none of that ‘round here. Bird, please. Get outta here. This ain’t your grass! … What was that? Why did I do that?
Mom: “It’s probably because you’re not used to the sun.”
Bro.
If I write something here,
Nobody will see it.
(via animalsincups)
(Source: animalsincups)
[Flash 10 is required to watch video]
:’(
Let’s help this girl!
(Source: umbbreon, via most-awkward-moments)
itsanthonygrey:
:|
(Source: wewilljumptogether)
most-awkward-moments:
This will make you laugh out loud!
(Source: thatwayofvie)
So a plane crashes on the border of Canada and the U.S. where do you bury the survivors?
Think about it.
When I was in the seventh grade I was depressed.
I tried three times to kill myself and I used to cut myself. Now I look back and I don’t really understand the cutting. It didn’t make me feel good, it made me feel bad. It made me feel the way I thought I deserved to feel. I’ve always been oversensitive, so what little bullying and “emotional abuse” I did receive really struck me hard. I coped with it by becoming a bitch.
When I realized that I was mentally ill I went to my parents. I expected help, I expected them to be good parents, or whatever, but instead I was scoffed at. I went to the few friends I had for consolidation. My first suicide attempt was meager. I tied string around my neck and tied it so that my circulation was cut off. As I was passing out, my subconscious swept in to save me. I accidentally pulled the string loose. I was so distraught that I sat in the corner crying and bloodying my wrists.
My second attempt was one that I was sure would take me. I attempted to overdose on my parents’ pain killers. Today I believe that the hand of God was involved in keeping me alive, and I couldn’t care whether or not you believe that to be true.
I kept reliving the jokes and jeers I had received from peers, and I went into this shell. Typically, it would be a cold, bitchy shell, right? Well, not me. I hid my emotions and smiled through it all, constantly poking fun and laughing even though I really just wanted to be at home again, cutting.
I don’t think anybody ever realized this. I don’t think any-body’s ever thought that my happiness was the only way I could make it through the day, and that I laugh so much because really it hurts inside. It hurts that I’m not built the way other people are. It hurts that my mind isn’t “normal” and that my body is deteriorating. It hurts because I never wanted to hurt anybody else, but I know for a fact that I’ve pushed away the people I want to pull close. I’ve been a bitch since fifth grade and when I make fun of you, please see the hurt little girl, holding the note that had been passed about her. See the fresh teenager who got pushed down the stairs and laughed at. See the girl with too much on her shoulders as her wrists bleed and her parents refuse her the help she wants.
I know this explanation really sucks, there’s so much I’m just not willing to put out there, but if you’re reading this and thinking about killing yourself, stop. If I had succeeded in taking my life I know that I would have died unhappy. Religious reasons aside, I’m glad I’m still alive. I had a chance to start again, and although I didn’t really change myself, the change of environment has really helped me. I’ve been able to feel real happiness, real love for my friends, not just the facade of smiles and laughter.
I also would like to thank my support team. I know none of you have Tumblrs, but I’m glad I was friends with you, I’m glad that you stood up for me and kept close to me despite my horrible words. I’m sorry I put that on you, I’m sorry you had to carry some of my burden.
I like to think that I’ve moved on. I’m at a place now where nobody tries to hurt me. I’m at a place where I don’t have to hide, but it’s so hard to change. It’s so hard to just give up five years of being someone else to become yourself. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I go to sleep worried that perfectly good people will become the next Katie Villareal; that I’m going to start getting hate in the hallways again for no reason; that people don’t like me and that they are talking about me behind my back. I’m so scared and so alone, I don’t even know if I can trust my new friends yet, it took me six years to trust the last ones and they were no help. I’m so scared, but I can’t regress. I can’t go back. I must march towards the light in my future. I’ve been through worse before, and I can go through this.