Achei Horrível E Isso é Oq Importa

to the person in the bell jar...

Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath’ / Vilhelm Hammershøi / Nicole Krauss, from ‘The History of Love’ / Ramon Casas / Joy Harjo, from ‘Speaking Tree’ / D S (saatchiart) / Fyodor Dostoevsky, from ‘The Idiot’ / Aleardo Terzi / Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Bell Jar’

buy me a coffee

— rhythmicrhinoceros

I wish there was a way to slit my throat without dying, I just want the feeling and to see the blood

being a mosaic of everyone you have ever loved is fine till you realise some parts of you are rotting and others dont quite fit right anymore

FULLY aware, thank you

new medication :(

weight loss :)

hair loss :(

weight loss!! :)

she’s my muse

dating me is so easy because u never have to worry about me cheating but u have to worry about me killing myself

There’s something soooooooooooooo beautiful in the way she sings, “And I'm just. getting. color. back. into. my. face, I'm just mad as hell 'cause I loved this place for so long.”

Like singing through it with gritted teeth, just barely starting to come out of the fog, realizing she survived (but at what cost) and it was hard-won, knowing she was dying and she had to do it, but it still hurts because she once loved the home that turned into a prison, she loved who they were in that home at one point, but she’s mad that it all blew up and she’s mad that she let herself stay in that place for long now that she has confirmation by leaving that it would have killed her. There’s exhaustion, there’s anger, there’s tenderness, there’s resignation all at the same time in her voice.

It’s such a stunning song.

𝜗𝜚