I Am My Mother's Daughter When I Clean Because I'm Depressed, And Cry When Over Stimulated. I Skip Meals

I am my mother's daughter when I clean because I'm depressed, and cry when over stimulated. I skip meals and tell everyone I "forgot". I feel my chest heavy with anxiety. I do not ask to be medicated. I am the strong one. The pillar. And I read a book that reminds me of her, but also of me. I hold no sympathy for her, only anger. I did not ask what made her react this why, only why that was her only reaction. I identify her trauma responses, but can't find the solution to my own. I understand her, but hate the traits she has given me. And intergenerational trauma is real, so if I was in my mother when she was in her mother, and my daughter was in my mother when I was in her, then what is a clean slait for any of us? when they say, we become more like our mothers the older we get, do we inherit their ability to bow, and bend, and break but never make a sound? But if I am my mother's trauma, do I scream uncontrollably because my life isn't in my palms? I swore to never be the woman that takes a man's fist, but my own fist is in my mouth as I look into the mirror and ache to shatter it. Am I my mother's trauma when I forgive a man for treating me like I am invaluable? Am I my mother's daughter when I half-jokingly prepare to give up on my dreams, just to be half-heartedly loved? And I pride myself in knowing that I can tell when someone is manipulating me, but then just as shamelessly ask to be manipulated; to be told that I am loved even if it is a lie. Where is the sense in being senseless in the name of love? Am I my mother's daughter when I overshare to a stranger because no one I love, loves me back enough to listen? And if I am a vessel of trauma, what will my daughter be? Am I my mother's trauma when I yearn to be with someone that does not even respect me? And if this is all my mother's, then am I my father's daughter when I look at my mother in detest over the destiny that she has handed over to me?

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onaestorm

1 year ago

“Querida. Veio-me hoje uma vontade enorme de te amar. E então pensei: vou-te escrever. Mas não te quero amar no tempo em que te lembro. Quero-te amar antes, muito antes. É quando o que é grande acontece. E não me digas diz lá porquê. Não sei. O que é grande acontece no eterno e o amor é assim, devias saber. Ama-se como se tem uma iluminação, deves ter ouvido. Ou se bate forte com a cabeça. Pelo menos comigo foi assim. Ou como quando se dá uma conjugação de astros no infinito, deve vir nos livros.“

- Vergílio Ferreira, Em Nome da Terra

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onaestorm

2 years ago

“The problem with wanting," he whispered, his mouth trailing along my jaw until it hovered over my lips, "is that it makes us weak.”

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onaestorm

1 year ago

who wore it better™

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onaestorm

5 years ago

bts fanart icons

don’t repost \ não reposte

like or reblog if you save \ dê like or reblog se salvar

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onaestorm

1 year ago

The Subtle Eye Contact During A Show. Hands Holding The Guitar Like He Holds You. The Angles Of His Face

the subtle eye contact during a show. hands holding the guitar like he holds you. the angles of his face from up on the stage. fluttering eyes when it's over. the smell of cigarettes and the remnants of his cologne. a tired hand interlocking with yours. a quiet hum as he lays with you. eyes shut. resting after a long night. hand in hair. running through it as you both lull to sleep. the same series of events repeating from one day to the next.

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onaestorm

1 year ago

Charlie Dalton (the sun)

[maybe someone might disagree with me but that's something I think about charlie]

charlie was like an older brother to the dead poets, he always tried to hide his pain, he had to be strong for them, especially neil and todd (they never asked, but he felt like that. he was trying to protect and help them).

neil struggled every day between his father’s pressures and his true passion, acting.

todd lived in his brother’s shadow and had high expectations behind his back.

the poets thought charlie was the sun, they had seen him cry such little times that they struggled to remember them.

just as the sun, comes the time to set.

the night comes and there is only darkness, the room is silent.

charlie sometimes sobbed wrapped up tight under covers. he was tired of thinking about the life that he was supposed to have, tired of his parents who didn't consider him.

some of those nights were louder, cameron heard him crying, but he said nothing, knowing he wasn’t the person charlie needed.

in the morning charlie's light was shining again, just like the sun rising after a stormy night.

this is how a new day began.

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onaestorm

1 year ago