Sylvia Plath, Aged 20

hey (with the intention of losing the time war)

Are You Coming? - Trina Teoh

“why is this a disorder this is normal it’s just soci-“ girl what do you think the social part of the biopsychosocial model of psychology means….

if it were a social norm to scream to communicate and someone quietly waved instead they’d be disordered in that society.

“doesn’t that mean that disorders are all socially constructed?” no because autism and adhd (i know y’all are only talking about these when you argue this stuff…) have a biological basis AKA you have structural abnormalities in the brain.

“but maybe those structural changes are just a social-“ uh i mean if you want to call an abnormally small hippocampus that results in memory loss just a social construct you can…i guess

next time you’re thinking “it’s just society that makes me disordered” uh yeah that’s literally part of it. psychology is a social science. but also like don’t forget there’s biology behind it and there’s never one reason why you’re disordered, it’s a mix of genetics, cultural influences, nature v. nuture, etc…

An archivist found a long forgotten 8mm film reel in an old metal box, marked "Philippines 1942". Thinking it was lost WWII footage, he sent it in to be restored/digitized. When he got the footage back, he found puppies instead (via)

“When faced with headlines calculating how long we collectively have left to live, or how the angry men in charge of the world still haven’t been taught to share the sandbox, I tend to lean further into my dreaming. I tend to cling to the things I can change. In 200,000 years of living, the human race has learned so little. We invent the wheel, shoot ourselves to the moon, collapse the ocean, forget to stomp out cigarettes. If there is an antidote to the discord, it is your tender hands pressed against your bleeding heart. In my wildest dreams, I imagine a love beyond countries and gods. In my wildest dreams, no child learns how to play dead. Out the window, is everything green and growing. All the guns rusted in the rain. It hurt to work this hard, believe me; the taste of swallowed pride, the grit of sore muscles, the shame in how we could have started so much sooner, but how worthwhile it is to be here now. In my wildest dreams, someone across the world falls asleep safe. My neighbor’s fridge is full. I can see so many more stars. The news is slow and none of us mind. In my wildest dreams, we all come home from the war.”

— Schuyler Peck, Biology of A Bleeding Heart

from Tiny Beautiful Things, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos. 

tu koi aur hai, janta hai tu

samne iss jahaan ke ek naqab hai.

tu aur hai, koi aur hai.

kyun nhiiii

vo jo hai?

tu jahaan ke vaste

khud ko bhul kar

apne hi sath naa

aise zulm kar.

khol de vo gile

jo lagaye tujh par tu

bol de

tu koi aur hai.

chehre jo

odhe tune vo

tere kahan hai?

saamne aa

khol de sab

jo hai dil mei

bol de ab.

tere raaste

khwaab hai tere.

tere sath jo

umra bhar chale.

aa inhe gale laga

tu kon hai bata?

aa khol de

yeh gile.

dont cry . your body is holy + the truth is tiny compared to the things you have to do, ok ?

beep beep sometimes when you have been in survival mode for a long time the parts of you dedicated to Wanting Things atrophy and you forget how to envision a future that feels rewarding because you are busy with the business of staying alive, and it can seem like your life must be pointless because you can’t imagine any long term goals. sometimes even when you leave survival mode you can’t remember how to Want Things. that doesn’t mean you need to give up on having a good and fulfilling life, it just means that Wanting Things is a muscle you need to gradually strengthen. the part of you that has dreams and aspirations is still there, it just fell asleep, but if you wiggle it enough it can and will regain feeling. it’s okay to start small

“Happy were the ages when the starry sky was the map of all possible paths, ages of such perfect social integration that no drug was required to link the hero to the whole.”

— Ben Lerner, Leaving the Atocha Station