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tunel - 259.3k posts

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  • Uma luz no fim do túnel!!! ☺☺
Santa Tereza - Rota da Uva e do Vinho - RS - Brasil.
  • Uma luz no fim do túnel!!! ☺☺
    Santa Tereza - Rota da Uva e do Vinho - RS - Brasil.
  • 976 16 5 February, 2019
  • Com aquele grito entalado na garganta.
  • Com aquele grito entalado na garganta.
  • 1,686 23 17 February, 2019

Latest Instagram Posts

  • Hace casi un año estaba de fin de semana con los amigos por los montes like mountain goats 🐐 y había luz al final del túnel. La luz seguirá estando ahí, supongo, pero me apetece mil repetir un viaje de esos que muchos meses después todavía hacen sonreír, como me está pasando ahora que me estoy acordando de las cosas que nos contábamos por la noche en las literas mientras alguno roncaba💤, porque es que compartimos habitación casi 10 personas. Qué bonita es la vida, chiquis.
Con este feliz recuerdo voy a proponerme tener un día lleno de optimismo pese a tener que estudiar como una hija de la fruta🍉🍇. Os deseo algo parecido, aplicable a vuestro caso.
#zaragoza #buenosdias #tunel #montaña #optimismo #amigos #martes #aragon
  • Hace casi un año estaba de fin de semana con los amigos por los montes like mountain goats 🐐 y había luz al final del túnel. La luz seguirá estando ahí, supongo, pero me apetece mil repetir un viaje de esos que muchos meses después todavía hacen sonreír, como me está pasando ahora que me estoy acordando de las cosas que nos contábamos por la noche en las literas mientras alguno roncaba💤, porque es que compartimos habitación casi 10 personas. Qué bonita es la vida, chiquis.
    Con este feliz recuerdo voy a proponerme tener un día lleno de optimismo pese a tener que estudiar como una hija de la fruta🍉🍇. Os deseo algo parecido, aplicable a vuestro caso.
    #zaragoza #buenosdias #tunel #montaña #optimismo #amigos #martes #aragon
  • 34 2 2 hours ago
  • 47 7 8 hours ago
  • Mom, my depression is a shape shifter.
One day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear,
The next, it’s the bear.
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone.
I call the bad days: “the Dark Days.”
Mom says, “Try lighting candles.”
When I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame,
Sparks of a memory younger than noon.
I am standing beside her open casket.
It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die.
Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark.
Perhaps, that’s part of the problem.
Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed.”
I can’t.
Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head.
Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?”
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out-of-town depression felt obligated to bring to the party.
Mom, I am the party.
Only I am a party I don’t want to be at.
Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends?”
Sure, I make plans. I make plans but I don’t want to go.
I make plans because I know I should want to go. I know sometimes I would have wanted to go.
It’s just not that much fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom.
Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying.
No.
I am afraid of living.
My depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city,
My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves.
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat,
But I am a careless tourist here.
I will never truly know everywhere I have been.
Mom still doesn’t understand.
Mom! Can’t you see that neither can I?
‌
Explaining My Depression to My Mother | #Sabrina_Benaim
‌
‌
#depression #dep #mom #mother #conversation #tunel
  • Mom, my depression is a shape shifter.
    One day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear,
    The next, it’s the bear.
    On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone.
    I call the bad days: “the Dark Days.”
    Mom says, “Try lighting candles.”
    When I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame,
    Sparks of a memory younger than noon.
    I am standing beside her open casket.
    It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die.
    Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark.
    Perhaps, that’s part of the problem.
    Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed.”
    I can’t.
    Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head.
    Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?”
    Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out-of-town depression felt obligated to bring to the party.
    Mom, I am the party.
    Only I am a party I don’t want to be at.
    Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends?”
    Sure, I make plans. I make plans but I don’t want to go.
    I make plans because I know I should want to go. I know sometimes I would have wanted to go.
    It’s just not that much fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom.
    Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying.
    No.
    I am afraid of living.
    My depression always drags me back to my bed
    Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city,
    My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves.
    The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat,
    But I am a careless tourist here.
    I will never truly know everywhere I have been.
    Mom still doesn’t understand.
    Mom! Can’t you see that neither can I?

    Explaining My Depression to My Mother | #Sabrina_Benaim


    #depression #dep #mom #mother #conversation #tunel
  • 90 0 9 hours ago