Yvonne's Stuff

miecroft:

*whispers* am i the only person who doesn’t ship eleven and clara

(via musingsofabrokendreamer)

the-absolute-funniest-posts:

This post has been featured on a 1000notes.com blog.

the-absolute-funniest-posts:

This post has been featured on a 1000notes.com blog.

long-mao:

Everyone should know this.
EVERYONE.


the more delicate the tea the longer the initial brew time.ie White Tea: 5-8 minsGreen tea: 3 mins

long-mao:

Everyone should know this.

EVERYONE.

the more delicate the tea the longer the initial brew time.

ie

White Tea: 5-8 mins
Green tea: 3 mins

(Source: chelseamustache, via goldeneyedbegger)

Give me complicated. I miss the cut of unsaid things. The sting of closely guarded thoughts. Being winded by the knowledge of the action.

Give me the trill song of whispered secrets. The thrill of hushed meetings. The touch of chastened lips.

Give me the explosion of requited passion. The thrill of burning fire along forbidden limbs. The satisfaction of stolen moments.

Give me the bile. The visceral. The vivissection of souls laid bare. The guilt. The pleasure. The laughs. The tears. The irreparable damage. The scars. The new beginnings. The happy endings. The tragedies.

Give me anything outside of this numbness. The emptiness of this ever falling rabbit hole.

Scream at me that I’m a live.

Invisible in limbo

Hi tumblr,
Firstly I want to say that I love your work. However, I would like to ask that you ignore your creative writing teacher. She/he is wrong about the little words in sentences. They are, in fact, important. These little words are what turn words into sentences. Imagine if you will a raft. Now remove the bindings from the logs and what are you left with?

Yours truly me.

Sometimes I just want to watch the world burn.

Or walk off into the dark.

Maybe I should start writing again. Lose myself in their stories. The stories that flash before my eyes. The stories I’ve lived, the stories that I’ll never get to have in my dull little life. But through my pen they live and dance and die by my whim. In carefully timed prose. In haphazardly formed patterns. Words falling onto the page. Emptying out of me and filling up the blankness.

Catharsis. Raw and unending.

Go home guard; you’re drunk.

 This is me hiding unconscious people in Dishonoured the wrong way.

Go home guard; you’re drunk.

This is me hiding unconscious people in Dishonoured the wrong way.

“Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life. It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.”
— (via lullabysounds)

(Source: sherunsfromdarkness, via musingsofabrokendreamer)