I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving. You are a stone. We weep together and make a bed for rain.
“
| — | Frida Kahlo, The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait (via perfect) |
And that’s the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn’t always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn’t even something — it’s nothing. And you can’t combat nothing. You can’t fill it up. You can’t cover it. It’s just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. That being the case, all the hopeful, proactive solutions start to sound completely insane in contrast to the scope of the problem.
It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared.
(x)You know when you read something that’s so accurate that you don’t know how to words?
Yeah.
Samband
I have noticed that no human wants to be alone.
This is because of how they are made.
Except for maybe when they are in a bath-room, they always like to be with other humans and do human things with them.
They like to talk with their mouths and ears with them, watch moving pictures with them, and listen to tón-list with them, and take photo-grams of their food for the inter-net with them, and dance with their feet with them, and sometimes kiss them on their mouths with their mouths.
If two humans like dancing together with their feet often, and kissing each other very much with their mouths, they are in a “sam-band”.
This word means they are together, and that they are no longer alone.
