Russian :P
so-humorous:

madeupmonkeyshit:

MY TYPE OF FUCKING PARTY
TURNT THE FUCK UP

who else felt the bang

so-humorous:

madeupmonkeyshit:

MY TYPE OF FUCKING PARTY

TURNT THE FUCK UP

who else felt the bang

nepetalast:

sheyna-sterling:

pissy-little-aquarius:

why are parents allowed to yell and scream at their children and call them names and just make them feel like shit in general…

but when kids try to defend themselves…. its disrespectful?

what kind of fucking shit parents do you have

is this a new thing to you

vergen:

randomly compliment people because sometimes that will be the only kind words they will hear that day

pleasecutmywrists:

Depression blog. Keep going, you’re not alone.

pleasecutmywrists:

Depression blog. Keep going, you’re not alone.

I wonder how many times you’ve compared me to her.
(Ten word story)

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 she 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 jaguarz)