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7 hours ago

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1 day ago

186570 notes Reblog

2 days ago

When did you stop feeling beautiful?

(via damnshelooksmean)

238397 notes Reblog

3 days ago

What Guys Look For In Girls - a response to Nash Grier’s “What Guys Look For In Girls” video

(via thegreenjellyfishie)

38153 notes Reblog

4 days ago

imsosickofjustinbieber:

ibadbitch:

lastqueen-of:

Damn

Pac was way ahead of his time.

This exactly what Justin is struggling with now

(Source: thugism, via damnshelooksmean)

600161 notes Reblog

5 days ago

stunnerdd:

ehclaire:

well this just makes me feel great about my body..

although i love ellen, she shouldn’t be body shaming the minorities just to make the majorities feel better

She’s not making fun of skinny people, she’s making fun of the symbol that represents skinny by the companies that make clothes.

(Source: kristenwiiggle, via damnshelooksmean)

334975 notes Reblog

6 days ago

rnangekyou:

shelbyxpwns:

tiasiandaly:

mydamnhartbig:

woahmrkelley:

fahrlight:

I am not tagging this. you all need to read it.

Just cried reading this

He hadn’t even figured himself out yet omg

I watched this as it aired, and i am not lying when i say that this broke my fucking heart. Just reading it, and remembering the pain in her voice, made me cry like an idiot all over again. Something needs to change.

It’s bullshit that the kids who did it got awat scott free. Like yeah there should defninitely be laws against homophobia, but are there not laws agaist murder? It shouldn’t matter whether or not the kid was gay. The fact of the matter is that a child died and there needs to be justice. 

I need to be linked

(Source: brothers-sisters-comrades, via digitalunbreak)

18028 notes Reblog

1 week ago

40963 notes Reblog

1 week ago

"

This is not meant to be a sob story.
This is a poem to make you understand.

In the past year alone,
I have attempted suicide 4 times.
In the past year,
the police have come to my house 2 times.
In the past year I ran out of resources
and had to check myself into a treatment center.

In the treatment center,
there was a girl who had
welts on her arm deeper than mine.
It looked like she had
punched her fist through
a glass window
the way life had punched
the life out of her.

In the treatment center
there was a girl who had hallucinations
about a man standing in the corner
that terrified her so much
that she couldn’t stand still.

In the year before the last one,
I had two suicide attempts.
I was checked into an ER for my overdose
then a psychiatric hospital.

This is a poem about all the people
who have been bounced back to a hospital
every time they thought they got their life back together
only to let their mental illness catch them off guard again.

This is a poem for all the people
who are so weak that they
cannot stand on their own.

This is a poem for the people
whose eating disorders are so strong
that they will refuse food
even when they weigh 70 pounds
and are forced by hospital staff
to be fed by a tube.

This is a poem for the people
who have more hospital bracelets
than they do friends.

This is a poem about
how I have to take 8 pills a day
to function somewhat normally.

This is a poem about how I had
to drop out of public school
because my mental illness
has interfered with my eating,
my breathing, my sleeping,
and my ability to live.

This is a poem about
how I cannot count the number of people
who have told me they wanted to die
on two hands.

This is a poem about the 400,000
emergency room visits
for self inflicted injury in 2001.

This is a poem for the 30,622 
people who committed suicide in 2001.

This is a poem for everybody with a mental illness
who is more scared of being judged
than they are of death.

This is a poem for everybody who
has wanted to bleed away their pain.
This is a poem for everyone
that wanted to disappear,
hoping that if they shot themselves,
if they crashed their car,
that if they jumped off the roof of a building,
that they might shatter.

This is a poem for everyone
who has tried to choke the pain
out of their life.
This is a poem for everyone who hoped
that an overdose would be a peaceful death.

This is a fuck you to every hallucination,
every manic episode, every depressive episode,
every flashback, every panic attack, every nightmare,
every suicide attempt, every hospital visit,
every purge, every laxative, every crash diet,
every single doctor that told you you were doing it for attention,
every single bully that didn’t know what they were driving you to,
every family member that ever looked at you like you were a freak,
everybody that ever told you to “get over it”,
everybody who told you that you were faking it.
Everybody who ever told you that it wasn’t a big deal.

Would you still be saying the same thing at our funerals?
Do us all a favor and tell us how beautiful
we “were” while we’re still alive.
How beautiful we are .

This is a poem for everyone who ever thought
the world would be better off without them.
This is poem for everyone who ever needed
somebody to just listen without judging.
This is a poem for everyone who just needs someone
to care or believe in them.

This is not meant to be a sad poem.
This is not a poem about overexaggeration.
It is a poem about reality.
It is a poem to finally make you understand.

"

This Is Not A Sad Poem (via expresswithsilence)

speechless.

(via this-one-moment)

(Source: angryasianfeminist, via damnshelooksmean)

200561 notes Reblog

1 week ago

"

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to scream and punch things.
Do it.
Let out every ounce of anger you have.
Sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb.
Listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet.
Write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you.
Throw your hairbrush at the wall.
Do it twelve times.
Do it until you feel like you can breathe again.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to hurt yourself.
Don’t you dare do it.
Sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little.
Listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3 A.M.
Make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace.
Brush all the knots out of your hair and say “I am worth it” into the mirror.
Say it twelve times.
Say it until you feel like you can breathe again.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to get through it.

"
things i wish i could make you understand  (via pessimistiic)

(via the-power-of-potter)

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