When I was growing up, I watched as my mom had trouble holding a job. She was quick to anger, quick to tears and in and  out of the hospital for depression. I remember thinking to myself that she just wanted attention, and she just didn’t want to work.

Oh, how I regret those thoughts today. These thoughts that are shared by so many people out there that just do not understand what it is like to suffer from mental illness. The employer that doesn’t understand why you are missing time from work. The friends that think, all you want is to get attention when in fact, you often stay at home afraid to go out into public because you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.


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I sometimes wish there is a way out .. but most of all I wish that people would stop pushing me even further towards the edge when iam barely holding on…I hear you mate, can totally relate… Keep trying :)

Source: namiorg

Grim reaper’s claws
Gashing wounds that had already felt raw
Bound by a lethal,
silent drug
And her soul raves inside a meat vessel
Pounding, howling at nerve endings
No more control
What used to be dormant
Is now boiling just beneath a cracked surface
Epilepsy of a hidden human being
Not her, her other ; a warped reality of a an ethereal being
A whirlwind of shit on her shoulders
Her internal organs bleed out
From pores she didn’t know existed
The sound of the implosion too deep;
Too constricting
She calls to the Grim Reaper:
Please take me home..


To leave everything behind
To contour a grey universe with yellow
To stop feeling like a shattered soul, that will never come back to life
Where does the mess end?


"Once again you have snatched away that fire that kept me going, hoping, living. Once again I am leaking dispair and all I can do is stare blankly, idly, coldly… at the ceiling"


I was a happy person trapped in a lost person’s body…
With you


"This world is an insane asylum, and its inmates think I’m crazy."

- (via chasejester)

I’d probably be the one calling myself crazy!..Nice fragment of thought nonetheless :)

Source: chasejester

There is nothing to be done
but to be patient
and wish that I can find some happiness


Lock thyself in isolation
Confine thyself within a dream
Give birth to an illusion
Recreate what’s impossible
And be


Skin-tight vessel
Unmitigated pandemonium
Preconditioned to self-destruct


A scattered void
Volatile and incohesive
She sheds what remains of her sullen skin, blue
Flesh and bones, grey
Deep and hollow
The tips of her fingers weep
As she becomes rather irrelevant
A vessel saturated
A melting pot of oxymorons
A juxtiposition of irregularities and discrepant emotions,
No, emotions are human
Etherial, she is
A caliginous hollow projection

Sense is nonexistent where she dwells
The clock ‘there’ turns clockwise
The clock ‘here’ spins diagonally anti-clockwise
Now, she lurks beneath a perceivable shadow
Unfitting, idle, unknowing
Just so that she can pass as a living being


Walls of sorrow, she hits
Once again she is back
To her dark sanctuary
Right above brittle ribs
Medieval dungeons
Rusted iron and hanging nooses
clustered, further cluttering her barely functioning brain
Only specks of flickering light illuminates through the holes in her body
Each, a scar indenting breaking skin
A walking masquerade of a so-called living being
Her soul seeks escape


"Bad luck is like a rash, it spreads"


To forget
To move on
To get lost in the world, alone
To do good and change the world

or to be taken to my God
This is what I yearn for
for there is no more life energy in me


"Fuck it all and no regrets
I hit the lights on these dark sets
I need a voice to let myself
To let myself go free
Fuck it all and fuckin’ no regrets
I hit the lights on these dark sets
Medallion noose, I hang myself
Saint Anger ‘round my neck

I feel my world shake
Like an earth quake
Hard to see clear
Is it me? Is it fear?

"And I need my anger to be healthy , and I need to let my anger free"

Photo Set


Valérie Mesquita

Entre Nós - Just Between Us

Just Between Us - Entre Nós, in portuguese - is an independent photography project by someone who has had enough of hearing stories about women who are victims of violence inside their own homes - stories often about very close and dear people.

After some research on the subject and conversations with many women - about suffering acts of violence and not telling anyone, about suffering and speaking about it, about the devastating effect these events have in a person’s life, about seeking help, about fear, about guilt, about feeling impotent, about silence, about all the complexities which this theme englobes - this project was the way I found to take a stand, to say “I don’t agree”. (artist statement)

1. It’s ok. It was my fault.

2. Who would believe me?

3. The neighbors had to call the police.

4. I have nowhere else to go.

5. I’ve waited for him to change. It’s been eleven years now.

6. It started when I first got pregnant.

7. My mother asked me what I had done to cause this.

8. I haven’t told anyone.

9. I was in a coma.

10. Of course not, it was a bike accident.

(via embeeness)

Source: darksilenceinsuburbia