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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Abortions...
My abortion is MINE alone. If I so choose to speak about my experiences in getting an abortion & all the feelings that came with the decision, it is MY experience to talk about.
I hate this need to not discuss abortions, that it needs to be hidden from those around you that you had one. I will never bring up my abortion out of the blue, HOWEVER if someone is going through it themselves, or in general having an open discussion about abortions, I will ALWAYS talk about mine, because I went through something traumatic but necessary & if I can help other women understand their feelings a bit better then I've done more than others did for me.
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Statue of a saint damaged by the sea air, Parish of St. Hilda, Hartlepool England
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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My mothers anger issues are
crawling into my chest
& I've got my fathers eyes &
His tendency to
disappear
So I'm sorry
About all the unopened messages
From you
& the parties I disappeared from
Before I even arrived
I swear I'd love you if I could
-Astrid
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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He Doesn't See
He doesn't want to see the words I've written
I wonder if they cause him to question everything
The ink on this paper is not written for you
It does not leak across into my thoughts of you
My love
The tears that have dried on paper & marred my words
Have not flowed because of you
My love
You are the simple equation
That is keeping me alive
For without you I would have taken my last breath long ago
My dear sweetest love
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Heavy
Heavy panic weighs on my chest
Unsympathetic,
Pressed against my lungs
Harsh
Who the fuck am I?
To think I have a place amongst these bodies
That I would ever be worthy
Of anything other than my broken brain,
Bruised heart,
This battered soul
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Twenty-three
One day you wake up and you’re twenty-three and you can’t remember what it feels like to be seventeen but you still cry to your mother after a bad day and you look a little older but you don’t really feel it. One day you’re twenty-three and your great-aunt is telling you how mature you look and how you grew a little taller but inside you still remember sitting under the oak tree reading with no meetings tomorrow and no rent to pay and the only thing you can think about is how at seventeen you thought at twenty-three you would know everything and now you can’t remember how you got from there to here. But seventeen-year-old you was wrong because you know only some things and not everything.
You know that coffee tastes better in the mornings and your home isn’t your home anymore; it’s “Mum and Dad’s”. You know your car needs servicing every six months and groceries are harder to do after breakups. She liked cookie dough and walnuts and strawberry-flavored milk and now every time you go to the store you can’t buy spaghetti without remembering it was a Friday night and she kissed you for the first time and the heat from her skin could have set your entire place on fire. One day you’re twenty-three and you’re trying to explain to a seventeen-year-old all the mistakes you made so they won’t make them too, when all you really want is for someone to realize you still don’t have the first clue.
─ Courtney Peppernell, Pillow Thoughts
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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A little girl in my 4th grade class came up to me after recess and said, “I got married at recess!” and I said “Oh? I didn’t know anyone was ordained under the age of twelve.” and she asked me what ordained meant and I explained and then she said “Oh, well, no, my wife and I were married by the slide, but we’ll be happy together anyway.”
So apparently on school playgrounds, slides are already legalizing same-sex marriage.
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Venom sequel where eddie is nominated for queer eye
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Every time someone says “dragon” in How to Train Your Dragon
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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When will it all stop? 
The chaos & constant noise of this world
Spilling out into empty space 
Far beyond that of infinity 
Polluting every corner 
Every inch of existence 
Quiet 
Quiet
Whispered please fall on deaf thunderous nothings 
Nothing
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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First Drafts (cw: depressive / triggering)
Folded,
Wrapped delicately
a precious treasure
What an unfathomable thing you are
To have come & picked up a broken thing
You found one the side of the road
Hiding it from your momma
Who said you aren't allowed strays
So hide me you do
Wrapping your family
Your friends
In a fairy-tale you have woven
Warm silk sheets intwined with promises
As my story
As who I am
But I am not that fairy-tale story
Am I?
I am chaos & darkness & drowning!
I am your lungs burning hours after
Your tears have already dried
You fight & scream
Why are you not getting any better!?
Why must you drag me down
Far down
To be surrounded within nothing
But your self-hate & loathing
Band-aids covering gaping trenches
Of scars pried open every time they heal
Laughing manically at the fading light
Blood falling upon my feet
Staining my existence on this earth
Do you regret it, my love?
Picking up that broken thing
From the side of the road
Hiding it from your momma?
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Took the day off work to write my sad poems 
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Rule number 4 has been broken within an instant. “Do not edit your writing” I stared at this rule just after I had backspaced 480 words I had spilled into physicality.
I don’t seem to have any strength or morality to follow rules. Even simple guided step by step instructions on just about anything is dutifully ignored. As if I am in a full time position to obliterate the self worth or lack thereof that I have.
I wish there was some magick pill that could take away the self hate that I drown myself in every waking moment I exist. Not enough to take my own essence off this plain but enough to feel like a constant stream of black oozing hatred is sliding down my throat, slowly but definitively. Choking away the happiness and self love I have forcibly carved into the very skin of my own body.
I do not want to be here. I do not want to be here. I do not want to be here. I do not want to be here on this rock within these walls on this land surrounded by sea. I am suffocated by the worthlessness of me. I am not enough of an imprint to be the size of a grain of sand within the timeline of the universe and consciousness. The hyperawareness of my existence plagues me constantly. It follows just behind me in life, enough of a distance that sometimes my guard is down and I experience the simplicity of such a short human life but close enough that I feel the burning coldness  of its grasp on the air around me. Its catching up again, this time it’s closer than it has ever dared to come. I feel their breath on my cheeks, their presence laying down beside me when I am falling asleep.
Is this depression?
Or is it the reality that everyone has suppressed deep within the back alleys of their consciousness. Do I see this cold reality because of my trauma? My dislike of myself and the world around me? Because of my anger? The suffocation that denies me breath? The thoughts that refuse to give peace even on the quietest nights?
I am at a loss, which is not unusual, you would think with my awareness of the trivial aspect of beings I would be able to collect puzzle pieces that others cannot obtain. The only difference between myself and others is that I can see the pieces within the distance, but like others I cannot grasp them. I got ripped off in this decision of my seeing. For its better to be oblivious than to be painfully aware and unable to do anything but watch.
This depressive part of my life is different to the ones that came before.
Before I was lost due to trauma, the pain of only what this life has dealt me early on. Growing up after seeing some of the worst parts life has to offer is surreal. I am certainly not wiser beyond my years or have some secret knowledge that others do not process. I am simply aware, and have been aware from the day my innocence was stolen and I was given this life.
But having the ability of awareness leaves me confused on the importance placed on every single task and aspect of my life. I must eat every day at certain times of my day for health. Why? Why focus on extending a life that doesn’t change any path that this consciousness has to choose. It’s arbitrary and a waste of my time. Why must I work to survive, work to extend this life that steals each part of your soul grain by grain? Breath by breath.   Why can I not live for myself, not the rules that come with accepting a life within this place. We are but a body of ocean, moving as one to create motions within the abyss but we do not move, we do not travel anywhere else. We are motionless but we are creating waves.
When will I find the comfort to live here. Or will I go through this life, this time I have within my body searching for it? This is not living, it’s not the path I crave for myself. The one I desire is too raw to spill into words, for if I scream what is wanted the possibilities might fade into the wind as the echos die down. Silence will be reached and with the silence comes the realisation that this is all I have been given.
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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This Life I am
There has to be more
More than the life I am
To be more then static on this planet
I cannot fathom a breath
Surrounded by this world I call mine
To be anywhere else
To find peace amongst
Myself
I wish for something more
Anything other than this
This world
This body
This mind
This need to strip all that makes me
Grounded
Chained
To this earth
This life I am
To be more than static on this planet
-Astrid
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Loneliness
What an assumptive word
Heavy is the thought that to be 
           alone 
Is to be kept away
From all the happiness that you have yet to know 
To sit with ones self by ones self 
Within the comfort of your own 
- Astrid
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astridsnotes · 3 years
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Lost Soul
I wish to shed my soul of this body 
The one that plagues her so 
How am I to connect with her 
If she's hiding under skin & bones
- Astrid 
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