“It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.”—J.K. Rowling (via sexpansion)
"My response to the “I am not a feminist” internet phenomenon….
First of all, it’s clear you don’t know what feminism is. But I’m not going to explain it to you. You can google it. To quote an old friend, “I’m not the feminist babysitter.”
But here is what I think you should know.
You’re insulting every woman who was forcibly restrained in a jail cell with a feeding tube down her throat for your right to vote, less than 100 years ago.
You’re degrading every woman who has accessed a rape crisis center, which wouldn’t exist without the feminist movement.
You’re undermining every woman who fought to make marital rape a crime (it was legal until 1993).
You’re spitting on the legacy of every woman who fought for women to be allowed to own property (1848). For the abolition of slavery and the rise of the labor union. For the right to divorce. For women to be allowed to have access to birth control (Comstock laws). For middle and upper class women to be allowed to work outside the home (poor women have always worked outside the home). To make domestic violence a crime in the US (It is very much legal in many parts of the world). To make workplace sexual harassment a crime.
In short, you know not what you speak of. You reap the rewards of these women’s sacrifices every day of your life. When you grin with your cutsey sign about how you’re not a feminist, you ignorantly spit on the sacred struggle of the past 200 years. You bite the hand that has fed you freedom, safety, and a voice.
In short, kiss my ass, you ignorant little jerks.”
“Some nights I think about dying and some nights I think about living till I break and I didn’t know that you could cry so hard that your heart stops bleeding and still wake up the next morning until I met you and I know that kissing you will probably kill me, bury bullets beneath my skin and spit poison into my veins but I know I’ll kiss you anyway and sometimes shaky knees and feeling like you’re going to throw up and staying up so late you get sick is love and not pain but sometimes the teeth you feel when you’re kissing and the way the red of the flowers he brought you matches the red in the sink and the way the butterflies in your stomach make you feel like dying is pain and not love and either way I never know when to say goodbye so maybe you should just stay one more night”—I’m trying to tell you I love you (via extrasad)