Welcome to my infinity.

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So tell me, how do you know you’re in love? How can you know what it feels like? Tell for sure it’s real?

Is it the touch of a hand, the feel of skin on skin, the way you can see every pore on your partner, and feel their energy as you lie there naked and spent. How important is it to be able to feel as if you’re a part of their life, as if their energy is your energy. Is their home open to you? Is their heart?

How important is it to look into your partners eyes for clues about their emotional state? To see into their eyes and see hints about their mood, to know them so well that you can talk to them as if they are a part of you, because they are a part of you. To know that you are do totally accepted that you can say anything, stupid or serious or in between- and be validated in the knowledge that you’re safe with them, that they love you anyway.

Is it to be able to wake up from a nightmare and feel their skin warming yours, their arm protecting you even when you’ve both succumbed to the dreamlands of the unconscious. How important is the feeling of safety to you, to be calm and centered, and know they’re the cause.

To be able to let go of your inhibitions, to be totally trusting of your partner, to know they’ll push you, they’ll test you, they may even break you, but only if it will help you. To know that they’ll reach into the inner darkness, and leave behind a light, if only so you can see the edges.

Is it to lie there together and stare at the ceiling? To be so content that simply their proximity is soothing? Is it to have found someone who truly loves, accepts and appreciates you? To know they’re not going anywhere, to know that they’re one of the biggest parts of your world now, and to feel nothing but gladness that this is the case. To have opened up and let them in, even if you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t, that you couldn’t be this vulnerable again. You broke all the promises you made to yourself, you let yourself go again, and you remain, even though you’re terrified, because they make it okay again.

Is it the feeling that you always want to be touching? That you always just want them near you, with you, beside you, you want them to be around, because your life is just better when they are. You’re safe, with them. Safe, for the first time in years. You know they won’t ever hurt you, won’t leave you, won’t make you feel less important than anyone else.

Is it the knowledge that somehow, in some way, no matter what, everything is going to be OK? That even if you lose everything, if you have only them left, you’ll be fine, because they’re so ingrained into your being that as long as you have them, you can rebuild. You can continue, you can flourish.

Is it the emotion you feel when you hear a song that reminds you of them? Is it when you can’t help but be reminded of them, you can’t help but think of them all the time, miss them, think of jokes they’d like, stories of your day to tell them. Is it the happy, rushing, bubbly feeling when you look at your phone and see they’ve missed you too? The swooping, giddy feeling in your chest when they just smile near you.

Is it having not just the mental connection, but the physical? Is it looking into their eyes as you connect? Squeezing their hand as you finish, knowing them so well that every intake of breath tells a story in itself. Every moan, every tightening of their hands around you, every moment spent staring at each other, sweat mingling, bodies twisting, intertwining, pushing into each other, instinct taking momentary dominance over reason, energy rising, but most of all the incredible, terrible, terrifying, intense closeness and intimacy of it all. The craving for more that overrides your senses, your reasoning, that takes you somewhere you were terrified of traveling to again, but once you’re there, you can’t give it up again.

Is it the aftermath? Lying naked and just being content to touch their skin, to allow your fingertips to bask in their warmth. to allow, for the briefest of moments, a transition, between you and them, a transition to togetherness, to wholeness, a point in time, while lying there tangled together, that the consciousness revels in the closeness, and simply soars.

Is all this love? Is it loving someone unconditionally? Seeing their flaws and sharing your own? What is it?

Love, my friends, is what I have.
Goddess Bless.

-E

Dude. You’re a cunt.

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My ex fiancee started to contact me today (Yes. THAT one.)

He wants us to be “friends”, he wants us to be able to get on and go out for drinks, and talk to each other like we used to. But here’s the catch, everyone- He can’t be friends with me because I’m so different. Apparently I’ve changed so much that he doesn’t know if we can ever actually be friends again. I’m a totally different person, he says, he barely even knows me any more- In fact, I’m nothing like the girl he used to love.

Well fucking fantastic. Now I’m sorry to everyone on my friendslist, but I had to put this somewhere, I had to just say what I’m about to say.

No fucking shit I’m different, you dumbass. I’m different because you beat the shit out of me with a fucking baseball bat, with books, with rulers, with your bare fists. I’m different because you used to lock me away, you treated me worse than a fucking animal.

I’m different because I’ve had to lie to everyone for years about what you did to me. I’ve had to live with the aftereffects of your abuse, the nightmares, the PTSD, the flinching every time someone stands over me, or tries to touch my face. The fact that, until very recently, I never felt safe at all. I never felt like I could relax and be myself again.

I’ve had to deal with stares, and odd looks, and sympathy from people who didn’t give a fuck enough to help me. I’ve had to cope with my friends deserting me after they found out. I’ve moved five times, gone through another boyfriend who cheated on me while I was getting YOUR fucking damage fixed, and a fiancee who dumped me, not before stabbing me, at some psychotic rage AT YOU.

I’ve changed friends so many times since you left me. I got into three different scenes, places where people actually accept and look after me for once, instead of just judging me on the fact that I have some serious issues that YOU left me with.

How about instead of being a judgmental fucking prick, you stop and think about everything you fucking did to me. You locked me up like an animal, you treated me like shit every single day for the last four months we were together. You broke bones, tore muscles, left bruises and welts and burns, and you broke my fucking spirit. You owned me, without the collar, without the love, without the respect- you owned me without my knowing how much you owned me, and then you destroyed me.

I nursed you through fucking every single sickness and surgery that I fucking paid for, so that you’d just stay alive. I got myself so far in debt that I was desperate. I never ate, I never slept, I didn’t even function outside of you. My entire existence was making sure that you stayed alive so that we could get married and have our family.

Then you took that away from me too, and blamed me for the loss, even though you were the one that made me walk to the hospital to find out how fucked I was by myself. The one who made me sit in ER like the beaten woman I fucking was, and have everyone stare at me while I was losing the only reason I was staying alive. They couldn’t save anything, not after the beating you gave me. You damaged my insides, as well as my outside. You made it so that if I ever wanted a child with someone else, it’s going to be harder. I’m just getting the right treatment now, two years later.

Stop being a cunt, and think about how much shit you’ve put me through. I lost everything, and I lost myself. I lost that woman you miss, the one that was always willing to drop everything to make you happy, and you’re never going to see her again.

Stop and think, and then maybe you’ll know why I’m so fucking angry at you.

Give you one guess what’s on my mind??
Mmmmmm. Hellfire was awesome. <3.

The really horrible thing about being semi-intelligent is knowing when it’s impossible for you to pass certain exams.

Leading to you spending the day before on Tumblr, Xbox and Facebook, biding the time until you have to go and wholeheartedly fail this exam.

*sigh*

Mum's instant reaction to rain:

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dontftba:

THE LAUNDRY!

QUICK, GET THE LAUNDRY!!!

Hahahahahha, I can’t get over how true this is.

BAHAHAHAH.

But change “Mum” to “Everyone I know except my housemates” ^_^ <3 I love these guys. <3

(Source: missmacs)

Fuck off and die in a hole.

*eyetwitch*

"

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.

"

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Aaron Freeman “You Want A Physicist To Speak at your Funeral (via enflurane)

(Source: lonelyheartsdeathmetal, via picturesinhismind)

I’m fine till I fall in love.

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Then I’m fucked. Seriously. And not even in the fun way that leaves scratch marks and bruises all over my body.

Being in relationships is fine. Being with new people is fine. But as soon as I fall in love? It’s like part of me dies inside. I don’t know how to cope with being in love any more. It’s like as soon as part of me is vulnerable, I can’t cope.

Fuck.

Yeah, this post is for a reason. I’m at another crisis point. I’m so over being at crisis points, I’m so over not knowing what I should do. I love them both. But why does it bug me that one has another partner in the works, when it doesn’t bug me with the other. Do I love one more?

No, Epis, that’s just stupid. You’re a fucking idiot. I hate you. SORT YOUR SHIT OUT. BLARGH.