stop handing me hearts.

stop handing me hearts —
I cannot handle them.
my grip is too strong,
and in other moments I let go.

I need my hands for myself.
I can’t manage other troubles.
if no one loved me,
I would have nothing to worry about.

stop handing me hearts.
I’m not ready or worthy
of so much responsibility.
your love is more than I deserve.

stop handing me hearts.
I don’t have it figured out.
I’m lost, and I’m too young.
stop handing me hearts.

I am nervous about

leaving Pip, how my mom will be without me, traveling, my work meeting Friday for which I am not really prepared, packing my things, I just

I hate traveling, I hate transitions. I really need to stop coming home for long stretches like this (three weeks), it’s so emotionally painful and difficult to leave again and I just

can’t stop crying and I wish we were in Indiana already

Taking down the Christmas tree

Is so unbelievably painful. I know you’re rolling your eyes at this stupid spoiled white suburban brat whining about missing Christmas, and that’s fine. Scroll on, or whatever. I know I’m lucky in so many ways.

But I think about: what I wish I had with my mom. I think about: how I wish Daddy were still alive. I think about: how fucking hard some of the holiday was due to family tensions and such. I think about: how someday, likely next year, I’ll have to spend Christmas away from my mother and how that scares me because she is a widow and needs therapy and my brother is a dolt and how will they get through it? How will I manage the guilt of not being there? I think about how happy these little things, the ornaments, make me. I think about how each one has a memory with it, of curling up with my brother to watch Star Wars or camping on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon with my whole family (back when we were a Whole family), of seven-year-old curling up at a family friend’s house for Christmas and then she gives me this box and I open it and it’s two little girl ornaments, and just as I think the pink-dress-one looks like me, we all realize that she’s shattered on the bottom and I start to cry.

There’s just a lot wrapped up in Christmas and so much that I love and all of which is so emotional and painful, either because it’s painfully sweet and going away, or because it is truly painful. And do I write a letter to my mother? She’s so good at shrugging or laughing off my feelings and making me feel ridiculous or stupid and I don’t know what I’d even say, I love you, I wish I could share more of my feelings with you? And no matter how I tried to explain why I can’t or how it hurts, she’d be defensive because that’s her way.

I can’t stop crying and I feel ridiculous. And I just need to take these ornaments off this cheap dead tree and wrestle it to the curb. 


And finally I give up and curl up beside Finnick,trying to block out the excruciating sounds of Prim, Gale, my mother, Madge, Rory, Vick, even Posy, helpless little Possy...
More sparks at mockingjohn.tumblr.com

This book series and movie is about PTSD and I love it and it is so so hard to watch because it looks like the worst moments of my life and those of my bestie’s life.

And finally I give up 
and curl up beside Finnick,
trying to block out the excruciating sounds of
Prim, Gale, my mother,
Madge, Rory, Vick, even Posy,
helpless little Possy...
More sparks at mockingjohn.tumblr.com

This book series and movie is about PTSD and I love it and it is so so hard to watch because it looks like the worst moments of my life and those of my bestie’s life.

(via mockingjohn)

A Place At The Table

One of my good friends, Will, from church at home, posted a link to this hymn (which we sing very often at church) on his Facebook along with these words: “In light of the verdict of the George Zimmerman trial and all of its implications, I found myself in tears as we sang this song in worship this morning. It was the last two verses that really got to me.” 

daddy did you know that i am going to graduate school?

and that I am moving to Indiana. moving in with my boyfriend. do you even know who he is? david. he’s great.

daddy i wish you were here please let me know that you know i just.

i can’t bear the thought of you not knowing my life anymore

oh come back

"

‎Later that night
I held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

It answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.

"

Warsan Shire (via loveyourchaos)

(Source: oktoberlyons, via singingstrigiform)

starchil-d:

(via TumbleOn)

wow this is a picture of me in the betweenlife

starchil-d:

(via TumbleOn)

wow this is a picture of me in the betweenlife

(Source: cpecod, via morgan-is-a-metaphor)

6,622 notes

One of the most painful things is having been a huge part of two little boys’ lives from ages 9 months to nearly four and then not being allowed to see them or talk to them. I wonder if they even remember me.