Oh god thank fucking christ.
I usually don’t reblog these, but I feel like some of my followers could probably use the reassurance. I definitely have these kinds of thoughts sometimes.
so i’m not crazy for randomly thinking such thoughts? what a relief!
Edgar Allan Poe had a name for it too: The Imp of the Perverse. he compared the impulses to a demon that urges people to do the wrong thing simply because it can be done
The compulsion to jump from high places is called “l’appel du vide" in French. The call of the void. I think it’s specific to that one instance, but I think it’s a cool phrase for this phenomenon in general.
I think about this with random sharp objects laying around, too. “What if I just jammed this into my eye or throat right now? … oh god WHAT.” Just… fucking christ, brain. Don’t.
Reblogging this again because most people don’t/never know how normal these thoughts are, and that can be a major source of stress. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just, you know, don’t follow through on that shit.
Sometimes I wonder if the occasional vivid images in my head of myself falling into traffic or tripping and knocking my teeth out or dropping expensive, precious things are points where I failed the mission and had to respawn and start over.
Today, I ripped you from my mouth
like the bitterest apology I’ve ever given.
I washed you off of my skin, watched the last of you
disappear down the shower drain.
Today, I made a choice
not to set fire to the person I was when you loved me,
not to burn myself to the ground
just to see if you’d come running to the flames.
Today, I stared down the morning until my eyes
burned like suns.
I left the house.
I wore a black dress that hugged my hips
like they would never have to apologize
for their vastness again.
I tore you from my hands, picked the splinters out
with a pair of tweezers, one by one.
I wore red lipstick and stained all my coffee cups with
my own mouth.
I looked in mirrors and smiled.
I walked to the park and
cried watching baby ducklings follow their mother
into the water for the first time.
I got drunk with my friends and didn’t bring
you up once.
I danced under the streetlights and kissed a stranger
who tasted nothing like you.
I went home alone and slept for twelve hours.
I didn’t see you painted on the
inside of my eyelids like the ceiling of
an abandoned cathedral.
I didn’t break a single dish in my house.
I showered until all the hot water was gone
and, my God, I was so brave,
to keep going without you.
To dig through the layers of you
and find myself glowing,
no longer the moth, but the light, itself.
I was so brave to get left by you
and not fall to pieces.
to get left by you and not fall at all. ”
this is my 10,000th post
representing all the time wasted when i could have been doing something productive
Am I crazy for doing this? Is this where I should be, or what I should be doing?
There’s something about starting something new that always brings up questions like this. Elicits that tiny spark of anxiety over change—the fear of somehow destroying or otherwise irrevocably altering your world and…