What Planet Are you From?

Inside the mind of a very different sweetheart


I keep having this dream, where I’m following a path, and then I spot a fox and he leads me off the path.
Shortly after that I find myself being led astray in life again.
Everytime I get back on that right path he shows up again, leading me off the path.
Is this a good or a bad sign?
I see pros and cons to this, but so far being led astray seems to be something I’m enjoying.
I’m hell confused.

It’s a rabbit!

It’s a rabbit!

Maximus in all his cuteness #husky #cute #boyfriends

Maximus in all his cuteness #husky #cute #boyfriends

You died on a Saturday morning. And I had you placed here under our tree. And I had that house of your father’s bulldozed to the ground. Momma always said dyin’ was a part of life. I sure wish it wasn’t.

Little Forrest, he’s doing just fine. About to start school again soon. I make his breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. I make sure he combs his hair and brushes his teeth every day. Teaching him how to play ping-pong. He’s really good. We fish a lot. And every night, we read a book. He’s so smart, Jenny. You’d be so proud of him. I am. He, uh, wrote a letter, and he says I can’t read it. I’m not supposed to, so I’ll just leave it here for you.

Jenny, I don’t know if Momma was right or if, if it’s Lieutenant Dan. I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it’s both. Maybe both is happening at the same time. I miss you, Jenny. If there’s anything you need, I won’t be far away. 

(Source: fyeahmovieclub, via fictional-nonfiction)

Im scared. Everyday. Everyday I'm fucking scared.


That’s how I feel. I haven’t had a paid shoot in 3 months. What did I do wrong? I’m not the success story you think I am. I’ve sold gear to survive. I have a little point and shoot camera, that’s what I have left. It’s all that’s left. I look around and everyone else is doing better, getting the…


"You’re probably thinking that this can’t be happening, but I’m going to die. This is my last day. If i knew this was going to happen, I would of got up earlier. I wouldn’t of slept in and I wouldn’t of been late. I would of fried that tenpuru better, and the stupid boy at school wouldn’t have been thrown into me. I thought today was suppose to be a nice day."

(Source: fishf1y, via fictional-nonfiction)

In my quest to become someone, the person I want to become.
I’ve realise that unlike others, my main goal in life is to live in solitude, writing my novels, drinking bottles upon shelves filled with vodka.
I unfortunately realise I was becoming Conor, and at first, I was frightened, but now, I know that I am Conor.
Since he’s died, I’ve become such a wreck and mess, I need to be alone in order to understand myself more.

Just gotta get myself a unit, fill it with copious amounts of vodka and do a Conor every single night, drink and listen to music and forget that anything ever existed.
That is now my life’s goal for the year. To be drunk every night and forget Conor ever died.



It’s Hotel Kakslauttanen! This is their glass igloo village where you can watch the beautiful and vivid northern lights from your bed. How wild would that be?! There is so much do and experience here. If you are brave enough you can take it one step further than the glass igloo, and sleep in real snow-built igloos! Of course, they have cabins too (that are absolutely amazing and drool worthy). I would love to go someday!

this is sick.

(Source: tinyhouseswoon.com, via fictional-nonfiction)

My body is tired and I’m tired of my body.

—Me everyday (via hai-lei)

(via dearbuddha)

I want to see and understand the world outside. I don't want to die inside these walls without knowing what's out there!
I want to see and understand the world outside. I don't want to die inside these walls without knowing what's out there!

(Source: purealchemist, via dearbuddha)

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Rape.

When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

—r.d. (via vonmoire)

(Source: elferinge, via dearbuddha)