Social anxiety isn’t cool.

OCD isn’t cool.

Bipolar disorder isn’t cool.

Depression isn’t cool.

Cutting isn’t cool.

Phobias aren’t cool.

Trauma isn’t cool.

Sleep disorders aren’t cool.

Eating disorders aren’t cool.

They’re real things, they’re scary, and pretending you have them is just fucking obnoxious and an insult.

(Source: hopelesssly-imperfect)


(Source: tigstragers)


Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is.
Charles Bukowski (via emergentpattern)
People waited all their lives. They waited to live, they waited to die. They waited in line to buy toilet paper. They waited in line for money. And if they didn’t have any money they waited in longer lines. You waited to go to sleep and then you waited to awaken. You waited to get married and you waited to get divorced. You waited for it to rain, you waited for it to stop. You waited to eat and then you waited to eat again. You waited in a shrink’s office with a bunch of psychos and you wondered if you were one.
Charles Bukowski, Pulp (via joshcairney)
I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.
(via clandestino82)
I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.
Charles Bukowski, “Raw with Love” (via ver-klempt)
Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.
Charles Bukowski (via hellcat138)
The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left.
Charles Bukowski. (via theburnthatkeepseverything)
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