I’m back.
Breaking the Fourth Wall: An Update
Perhaps writing this post is unnecessary, but I want to acknowledge how grateful I am to those who read and follow my blog. Though I rarely write about specific details of my personal life on this blog, everything I post is a reflection of my personal growth (or stagnancy). The next part of my journey is beginning and thus, I am going to be away from this blog for the next ten weeks. I am leaving to receive intensive inpatient treatment for an eating disorder I’ve struggled with for over six years. My recovery has been an ongoing process but lately, symptoms have intensified, and my life is at a complete standstill. I need help to get it moving forward again, help to see that perhaps there even is a way forward. I just want to provide an explanation for my impending absence, as I do not wish anyone to think that I have simply abandoned this site. It has meant a lot to me and I shall return. Thank you to everyone who has stayed by my side throughout this journey, and as it continues.
Always,
Rebecca
“Will your pretty face be anything but food for worms and insects in the grave?”
— Abdulbary Yahya (via petrichour)
(Source: grimyboy, via swanmaiden)
“Your sentimentality softens all the edges, you’re misremembering. Take a moment to recall it as it really was: fucking hell.”
— Miranda July (via klonazepam)
(Source: thisisabsolute, via thebonepalaceballet)
“I used to be disgusted, now I try to be amused.”
— Elvis Costello (via frenchtwist)
“
She feels frustrated with being an artist,
how all artists wanted only to be visible.
Once she had loved color
and the ache of light glinting off a cup,
but now she wanted it to be forever night,
a place in which all of it—light, color—was absent.
And she wanted all the people to be absent,
too. Especially the Artists.
She wished on them an endless night,
where they would have to struggle to be visible
to themselves first, grasping onto their souls like a cup
and trying to fill it with color.
— Aleida Rodríguez, from “Still Life with Cup” in Garden of Exile (Sarabande Books, 1999)
(via commovente)
“even if we have the sensation of being always enveloped in, surrounded by our own soul, still it does not seem a fixed and immovable prison; rather do we seem to be borne away with it, and perpetually struggling to transcend it, to break out into the world”
— Marcel Proust (via mytheatreofcruelty)
(via thebonepalaceballet)
- Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita (1967)
