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#Grief journal tag
creatinganewwlife · 3 months
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It’s true. As much as i hate it, i realised the person i love more than myself wasn’t there for me. He couldn’t be there for me. And now even though he is trying to be there, it feels unreal.
I had always thought that being there for each other, being each other’s rock is what love is. And i assumed you’d be my rock too if it ever came to that because i knew i would. People stay strong for the person they love, right? I know i would bear everything if it came to you.
But why, when i am going through something unimaginable, my pain is alot to deal with? So i am left to deal with it alone. Why do i have to always struggle alone? Why do i always have to be strong?
For the first time in my life, i thought i could lean on someone and what happened later felt like a tight slap on my face, a very harsh and unwanted realisation, almost like God, chiding me,
“Did you really think you could depend on anyone?”
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agentark · 1 year
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Jenny Han, To All The Boys I've Loved Before // Brenna Twohy // unknown // Florence + the Machine, "Long & Lost" // J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers // Aelsa Trevelyan, The Fernweh Saga, Book 1 // Euripides, Herakles // unknown // k.tolnoe // Taylor Swift, "Death By A Thousand Cuts" // Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
will you remember me when I'm gone? if we never meet again? if we can't? I'll remember you. I hope I'll see you again.
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reblyakow · 9 months
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i’m grieving our love ;
you’re maybe not dead,
but something died that day.
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starseclipsetoo · 6 months
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gx-bii · 11 months
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My home has a heart
My home has lungs
My home has a brain
My home has 206 bones
My home heals me when my heart breaks
My home heals me when my chest feels tight
My home heals me when my brain works against me
My home heals me when I physically break
My home doesn’t have my love.
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seahearted · 11 months
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trying to get through this summer by externalizing my feelings with messy journaling
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I think my stress is making my ostensible long covid symptoms act up :)
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rainbeam · 3 months
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There’s a sort of grief to knowing that you no longer have the energy like you used to.
When I was 19, I was blazing with creative glory. I would write and write and write and write.
Now I’m lucky if I ever get past 300 words on a blank page.
The ideas are there, but it’s like I’m staring through fogged glass. The concepts become muted and distorted, simple shapes and colors that blur together like my glasses have lost their prescription strength.
Like a telescope lense out of focus.
Something broke in me, in 2020.
Burnout.
And then I got sick. And sick again.
There are days where the fog is all I can really perceive.
But I’m still working on progressing. Slow and steady, one step at a time… it’s still something to celebrate.
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lux-scriptum · 1 year
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N e ways
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roohdaar · 2 years
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आशिक़ को मिलती हैं गम की सौगातें ।
सब को ना मिलता ये खज़ाना ।।
A lover gets grief as a gift
Not everyone is lucky to get this treasure.
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scholarschism · 1 year
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Got nostalgic for some ex friends. I hate that feeling— I wish I could tell them I’m thinking of them and chuckling at memories. And at the same time I feel embarrassed of wanting that, given how things ended. Friends and love and laughter are wonderful, but they leave pernicious ghosts.
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darubyprincx · 1 year
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I LEAVE FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES TO DO SFHOOLWORK- ok. We will handle all of this tomorrow. I am submitting the votes and going to bed. This is getting very out of hand very fast. Ok.
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starseclipsetoo · 7 months
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punk-a-pumk · 2 years
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Poetry entry n.#1
I'm the living memory of used fur. An imaginary sensation of being alive.
They don't know that I'm not a person.
If I were a person
Oh I'd be useless.
Is it this painful living through the eyes of a mother?
She caresses my hair as she brushes it. I lay in the ground with a sour taste of regret in my tongue. She loves me; I whisper.
Once I tucked her in bed, I became a mother
Raising a child in me, yet living as a cadaver.
Raising a part of me, still teaching it manners.
Raising her in a body of mine.
Mother, I will meet you again, but I'm sorry to tell you, we'll only be a reflection.
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funky little poem from a writer on twitter--it I just think it's very good.
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