Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so goddamned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life of which I spoke at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being told. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. Or, perhaps, stay and save my life. ”
“Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.”
Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar
I’m not the type of girl anybody wants to be with. My body takes up too much space and I laugh too loudly for too long and I shout when other people are quiet and when I’m drunk I type in caps and I always wanted to be mysterious and beautiful and untouchable like other girls but if you ask I will give you everything and I fucking despise that
Anxiety is wanting to ask your partner a million questions as to why they’re with you, why they say they care about you, and so on.
Depression is not thinking you’re worth enough to even ask those questions, let alone be with them.
And having both of them is the definition of hell.