Hysterical Literature: Session One: Stoya
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Let me be a little honest…
It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe. You feel empty. Hollow. You try everything to try to fill the void. You plaster a smile on your face, hope that it’ll eventually stick. You read. You speak to others, to see if maybe their presence will help.
It does. For a little while. But then you have to resort to some more extreme methods of coping.
The only way to feel better is to sleep, and being unconscious, even if you’re plagued with nightmares, is better than being awake. Being awake means that you have to face everything that you’re scared of, and no one is going to help you. No one cares. In fact, they’ll probably drag you down so that they’ll get a foot ahead.
Being awake means forcing yourself to feel, to try to care, when all you really want is for it to be over. So you sleep. It’s the next best thing.
But eventually, even that doesn’t help. So you go to the only thing that you know works. Pain is something that everyone can feel, and physical pain leaves a reminder. The cuts and the scars and the blood… it’s not there because I’m sad. It’s there because I am trying to be happy. I am trying to feel something, anything. I am trying to get better, but the only way for me to get better is by getting worse, and if that’s what I have to do to get rid of this hollowness, this void, this fear, so be it.
repeat after me: I am a fucking awesome person who has dealt with so much shit and I have made it through it all and am still cute af and smart and funny and nice and intelligent and I kick ass
Maybe love stays. Maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t. Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to. And love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives, say, ‘Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.’ If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her. Turn off the music, listen to the quiet. Whisper, ‘Thank you for stopping by.’
I want you to leave marks on me.
Marks from loving me too hard,
from kissing me too hard,
and holding me too hard.
I want you to leave your handprint.
I want your loving words to hit me hard.
I want to feel your love on my skin.
How you make others feel about themselves says a lot about you.
a psa on booklr
booklr is the name given to the community of book blogs on tumblr
there isn’t a way to join booklr
people who (mostly) post about books and lit = booklrs
that’s literally it. there’s not complicated procedures or application forms and whatnot. you don’t have to sacrifice a virgin to join booklr.
oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME THIS LIKE FIVE MINUTES AGO JESUS OH GOD OH GOD
WHAT HAVE I DONE
OH SHIT
OKAY DONT PANIC
*whispers* do u know how to hide a body??
And the best part of booklr is we all read so much that most us know EXACTLY how to hide a body
So shall we dump it in the sea or stuff it in a trunk and ship it to Peru?

