Fortheloveoffisherman - 🦋 MDF | Dark Romance Since 2005🦋

How was grief before cameras were invented? Pictures now exist for people to hold onto after their loved ones die, but what about people from less than a hundred years ago? Do they feel guilty about forgetting their loved one's face? A face that was once so familiar to them that they could memorize every wrinkle and freckle? Memories remain, but how long until the person in those memories become a faceless, hollow being? How could you grieve for a person whose face and voice you don't even remember?

Actions speak louder than words but consistency speaks louder than both. Choose people that always make you feel wanted.

The hardest part is how deeply I’ve been fantasizing about it lately. The swell of joy in my chest I couldn’t recognize— really is stemming from the huge relief that would come with dying.

I have struggled for weeks and talked to everyone I could for as long as I could. I’m hitting a cold point of acceptance. Even if someone who cared was on their way, I can’t keep carrying the weight in order to maintain until then.

Most days, I don’t leave my bedroom and I sit and do all the journaling, shadow work and reading I can. But I keep hearing snap out of it, I keep gritting my teeth and pushing myself like get the fuck over it.

Then you show up in my fucking dreams and smile at me and I’m fucking gutted completely. I woke up howling like it’s the death of my father all over again. I’ve done heartbroken for so long, I’m clutching an empty rib cage and begging for help with oxygen to keep it pumping.

But in reality, in my most silent moments, I daydream about taking my last breath and that moment when my heart is gonna seize out of my chest and instead of picking me up this time, you just come get me and tell me it’s finally time.

All the therapy and work in the world hasn’t made it make sense to me why I have to suffer nothing but pain and loss while everyone else gets to have permanence in their life.

I don’t wanna be here anymore.

I utterly and truly don’t. And yet all I do is try and cry. I’m such a fucking failure.

Duane Michals - The Bogeyman, 1973 | More