sun, mountain, water

Touch my thoughts, ask me questions.   There is beauty alive in nature & in our hearts.

"The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one."
J.D. Salinger (via drunk-on-books)

(via drunk-on-books)

— 3 months ago with 86 notes
"I’d make-out to Arctic Monkeys with you"
Ancient Proverb implying utmost respect and honour (via imjustbeingfriendly)

(via unexpectedeccentricity)

— 4 months ago with 109267 notes
"It’s simple. I don’t believe in wasting my energy arguing when we can either cuddle, fuck or make love. I don’t understand fighting each other when we should be fighting together against the enemy. Why stress out one another when we can use our bodies as a vehicle of relief. Why do relationships have to be so complicated when they don’t have to. It’s fucking easy! Find someone who resides on the same level as you in terms of peace of mind and go on to create something beautiful. Laugh, fuck, love and just enjoy the time you both have on this earth while you can."
Me ( Reuben L Holmes II )

(Source: herfavoritesin, via ellestanger)

— 4 months ago with 738 notes
drugz-and-rocknroll:


misandry-mermaid:

ellestanger:

cumber-hiddles:

scorpswimmer:

This is why you cant trust women, even when theyre mouth is closed theyre still lying to you

you do realize that this is really hurtful right?
i did not do this to show how i am ‘lying’ to men or anyone, it’s not about how you, as a man, should feel about it - it’s about myself. 
to me your statement sounds as if the left side of this picture is something awful or horrible. and no, it’s not. it is my face - with and without makeup. and whether i chose to wear it or not is MY AND JUST MY decision. and when i do, i do it for myself - so that i feel good about myself - not for you.

Women aren’t born with makeup on, guy. Just like penises don’t circumcise themselves, and air conditioning isn’t ‘natural’. Makeup is no different than brushing your hair, or bubblegum. It’s elective. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re not very loved by the ladies.

Male logic:
Treat makeup-less women like shit for looking “less attractive”
Pressure women to wear makeup in order to receive basic respect
Treat women like malicious liars for wearing the makeup they were told they HAD to wear

MULAN IS THAT YOU 

drugz-and-rocknroll:

misandry-mermaid:

ellestanger:

cumber-hiddles:

scorpswimmer:

This is why you cant trust women, even when theyre mouth is closed theyre still lying to you

you do realize that this is really hurtful right?

i did not do this to show how i am ‘lying’ to men or anyone, it’s not about how you, as a man, should feel about it - it’s about myself. 

to me your statement sounds as if the left side of this picture is something awful or horrible. and no, it’s not. it is my face - with and without makeup. and whether i chose to wear it or not is MY AND JUST MY decision. and when i do, i do it for myself - so that i feel good about myself - not for you.

Women aren’t born with makeup on, guy. Just like penises don’t circumcise themselves, and air conditioning isn’t ‘natural’. Makeup is no different than brushing your hair, or bubblegum. It’s elective. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re not very loved by the ladies.

Male logic:

  1. Treat makeup-less women like shit for looking “less attractive”
  2. Pressure women to wear makeup in order to receive basic respect
  3. Treat women like malicious liars for wearing the makeup they were told they HAD to wear

MULAN IS THAT YOU 

(via dreamliest)

— 4 months ago with 292347 notes
Average

I don’t know exactly when my relationship with food was corrupted, but I know that it occurred in the same timeframe that I separated from the self I once was. I cannot determine if this is this me right now, if I am the person I was destined to be. I feel like I’m not. I feel like I’ve lost my innocence over food, indulged in sex and drugs and food until I had no clue who I was before all that.

I wonder if it was an effort to lose myself, to throw away the bowline and lose site of the shore so that I would never remember the sweetness of feet on solid ground. Then I would soon lose the memory of who I was and would never have to miss myself. But I do miss myself, or rather I miss what used to fill the emptiness that lingers inside of me now. Perhaps my heart was severed in that transaction, the giving up of land for the tumultuousness of the sea. I feel as though I will never find land again.

It all makes sense though- my parents get divorced, my life turns upside down, and in those years, so crucial to the development of my sense of self, I lose every fragmented bit of me to the unforgiving forces of nature. It was a cyclone of “right” and “wrong” and “yes” and “no” of “who am I?”s and “who the fuck are you?”s.

I get that growing up changes your perspective of your parents- this is inevitable. While most teenagers use their parents as a backbone from which they try to completely deviate from, I did not have the luxury of having such a clear example of who I did not want to be. Instead, my parents morphed before my eyes- as I grew up, my father grew sicker and when I clung to my mother, she morphed into her boyfriend, a stranger with whom I’d spend the next 4 years of my life with. Malleable, I called her. And so, to try to create myself from such evolving role models is to try to paint Jupiter’s sunrise. With days lasting less than 10 hours, Jupiter spins faster than two times the rate of the earth.

Food equaled control. Cliche, but it’s the truth. There was a kind of sanity in science. I strove for perfection. I am not alone in this- we all do to some extent. I wanted to be a perfect person and without clear guidelines to what that looked like, I made up my own. Good grades, a fast runner, a skinny girl. This was the ticket to success. Family values were out the window and none of my friends were close enough with me to share their own. Or rather, those that were had their own shit to figure out. These were tough times, adolescence. 

I chose good grades because that is what my teachers told me. I chose running fast because that is what my coach told me. I don’t know why I chose food, but it’s the one that has stuck with me ever since. I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment that I realized food was to be controlled, but I cannot. It may have been at dinner at my grandmother’s house when I was on my third serving of macaroni and cheese. It may have clicked like the closing of the cupboard door that woke me up to my father shoveling cookies into his mouth, his belly protruding from his big white t-shirt and underneath that, his male parts sagging in his briefs. It’s a shame white does not camouflage well. Or it could’ve been later, in health class, listening to my teacher talk about protein, fats an carbohydrates. It was seductively simple. One must not consume under 1,200 calories. This is the minimum number needed to run your organs alone if you just lay in bed all day.

But I didn’t just lay in bed. I ran, I swam, I played soccer. I went to practice after school and then went home to dinner, followed by a glass of ovaltine for dessert, homework, and ab exercises. A half cup of grapenuts with skim milk, a whole wheat pancake, no syrup, a piece of french toast with a dash of blueberries. That was breakfast. Then, two cheese sticks and a pear, a yogurt and an apple, four crackers and a clementine. Lunch. Dinner my mom always made for me. I ate the smallest I could get away with. Everything had to be whole grain, I never added cheese. Before practice, I ate a granola bar. The fat to protein ratio had to be 1:2. They were always kashi bars. I ate each piece of oat individually. I drank my ovaltine in tiny spoonfuls. My cheese sticks were slivered into miniscule pieces, my clementines I ate one nibble at a time. I refused anyone else’s food. I loved myself for the choices I made.

But then, I started to get sick a lot. Infections took a long time to heal. I was always cold. I ate enough, or so I thought. Then one day a magazine heading caught my eye. Eating disorders. I realized I was not as healthy as I thought. I was on track to eating only fresh fruits and vegetables. Nuts were too high in fat, too low in protein. Grains were too processed. Orthorexia was the article’s diagnosis for me. I stopped my disordered eating habits. I indulged, I devoured. I gained weight. Cue bulimia.

The disordered eating had returned, but this time in a different form. It was no longer about being healthy: I wanted to be thin.

This resurgence of disordered eating was again about control, but I no longer valued perfection. The rigidity was lost. Instead, I desperately tried to convince myself that food was okay. I still struggle to do so today. It is very rare for me to be able to put food in my mouth without an intense battle inside my head. To indulge or to deprive. I still don’t know which is right. 

I don’t know when my mind switched from its childlike contentedness to the feeling of never being good enough, but the alteration certainly had something to do with food.

I think that I will always feel like I need to be skin and bones to be happy, but I hope that this isn’t true. I lack the self-discipline to starve myself like I used to and though I have yet to forgive myself for this, I am realizing that it does not matter as much as I once thought it did. Growing up I always pictured myself as a disney princess or an actress from a movie. The reality is that I am neither; I am average. I could be in better shape, I could have better skin, better clothes, better hair, better make up. However, I have to make room for myself, for what I am and not what I could be. What I am is down-to-earth, I am funny, I am thoughtful, I am kind, I am intelligent, I am adventurous, I am loving. I am many things, but I am not fat and I am not skinny. I am average and I am beautiful.

— 4 months ago with 4 notes
#eating disoder recovery  #food  #bulimia  #bulimic  #orthorexia  #anorexia  #adolescence  #growing up  #beautiful  #average 

contraception:

the goal is to love myself so much it offends other people

(via euo)

— 4 months ago with 231896 notes
"

- take a walk in the snow in your bare feet.

- light a cigarette and watch it burn; don’t smoke it.

- put on all your favorite clothes. layer them. look at the way they look on you.

- appreciate your body.

- smell your plants, even if they’re not flowers. water them, love them the way you want to be love. love them the way they want to be loved.

- remember you are one person now but there are so many people you can be.

- close your eyes and play a favorite song in your head.

- paint your nails then take the paint off. look at the bits left behind, imagine those as your problems, over time, you will scratch them off; they will disappear.

- pick a leaf off a tree, hold it, cry because you hurt it, but then remember it will forgive you, remember that you will always be forgiven. remember to forgive yourself.

- love yourself.

- love the freckles on your left cheek, the stretches on your toes, the scars on your wrist.

- love yourself.

"
13 ways to be at peace (via cynicallys)

(via lostbutyoucanfollow)

— 4 months ago with 12303 notes
"It’s not going to be easy. It’s not supposed to be easy, I don’t know who taught you that everything difficult means you have to give up and back off and shut yourself down. Loving me is hard. I’m moody, and I don’t always want to hold your hand. Sometimes I don’t even want to look at you. But for God’s sake, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t fight for you still. It doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t come and get you if you were stranded somewhere at night. Or that I wouldn’t love you through the flu and run back and forth from the bathroom to our bedroom with a cold compress. All I’m saying is that sometimes things get hard, sometimes they get so difficult that you don’t know where to put your hands, but that’s when you grit your teeth and be patient. Some things are worth staying for."
Azra.T “stop leaving the fight before it’s even begun.” (via 5000letters)

(via lostbutyoucanfollow)

— 4 months ago with 4830 notes
"If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello."
Paulo Coehlo (via perfect)

(Source: undermyskinthemoonisalive, via recoveryisbeautiful)

— 4 months ago with 124732 notes