krysteeezay

krysteeezay

THAT SH*T KRAY.
a collaboration of all things random,
thoughts from the depths of the heart, and...

CONFESSIONS OF ALL THE FEELS I HAVE IN THE WORLD FOR
NATHAN ADRIAN.

hit counter

chelynne:

ohsarahlee:

rufuku:

[gabrielle aplin || please don’t say you love me (studio sessions)]

Just please don’t say you love me
‘Cause I might not say it back
Doesn’t mean my heart stops skipping when you look at me like that

The fragility of her voice breaks my heart.

Just please don’t say you love me…

(via instantvintage)

It’s taboo to admit that you’re lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven’t left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. Ha ha, funny. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you’re not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are.

A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn’t transition well to adult life, that you’d fall right through the cracks. And look at you now. La di da, it’s happening.

Your mother, your father, your grandparents: they all look at you like you’re some prized jewel and they tell you over and over again just how lucky you are to be young and have your whole life ahead of you. “Getting old ain’t for sissies,” your father tells you wearily.

You wish they’d stop saying these things to you because all it does is fill you with guilt and panic. All it does is remind you of how much you’re not taking advantage of your youth.

You want to kiss all kinds of different people, you want to wake up in a stranger’s bed maybe once or twice just to see if it feels good to feel nothing, you want to have a group of friends that feels like a tribe, a bonafide family. You want to go from one place to the next constantly and have your weekends feel like one long epic day. You want to dance to stupid music in your stupid room and have a nice job that doesn’t get in the way of living your life too much. You want to be less scared, less anxious, and more willing. Because if you’re closed off now, you can only imagine what you’ll be like later.

Every day you vow to change some aspect of your life and every day you fail. At this point, you’re starting to question your own power as a human being. As of right now, your fears have you beat. They’re the ones that are holding your twenties hostage.

Stop thinking that everyone is having more sex than you, that everyone has more friends than you, that everyone out is having more fun than you. Not because it’s not true (it might be!) but because that kind of thinking leaves you frozen. You’ve already spent enough time feeling like you’re stuck, like you’re watching your life fall through you like a fast dissolve and you’re unable to hold on to anything.

I don’t know if you ever get better. I don’t know if a person can just wake up one day and decide to be an active participant in their life. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think that people get better each and every day but that’s not really true. People get worse and it’s their stories that end up getting forgotten because we can’t stand an unhappy ending. The sick have to get better. Our normalcy depends upon it.

You have to value yourself. You have to want great things for your life. This sort of shit doesn’t happen overnight but it can and will happen if you want it.

Do you want it bad enough? Does the fear of being filled with regret in your thirties trump your fear of living today?

We shall see.

9gag:

Appearances… People always judging them.

9gag:

Appearances… People always judging them.

(via ladooores)

beautilation:

god bless her for wearing sclera lenses, those things are worse than blindness because it’s blindness plus a huge piece of fucking thick silicone suctioned onto your eyeball, drying it out and making your body wonder to itself, yet again:
“why the fuck do you do this shit to me? what? because it’s cute? you are squatting over everything I have built for you and taking a big, satisfying dump on it. And no, you know what? It’s fine. By all means- please keep clogging your pores with flesh colored mystery substances, douse your scalp in toxic chemicals, pay someone to poke holes in your body, fuck your feet up, shove your body into vacuum sealed undergarments and keep getting rid of the hair I keep trying to give you. You’d think you’d take the fucking hint but apparently shit needs to get real: You know those painful razor burn bumps, wax burns and infected ingrown hairs on your yoni? THAT’S ME CALLING YOU OUT ON YOUR BULLSHIT. That horrible pain and hours of soreness after you decide to take that miniature black toboggan out of your eyeball? HI, FUCKFACE. You need to sit down because your feet feel like they’re on fire and being chewed by monkeys? MAYBE USE YOUR REAL LIFE HEELS TO WALK INSTEAD OF METAL SPIKES, I DUNNO. That freakish swelling, bruising, and pain that follows a piercing? HOW ABOUT YOU DON’T KEEP DOING THAT, I DO NOT ENJOY THAT. Oh you have a belly ache and feel like you’re going to pass out? PERHAPS IT’S THE CORSET YOU HAVE ON THAT IS STRANGLING THESE IMPORTANT ORGANS, CUTTING OFF CIRCULATION AND BENDING YOUR RIBCAGE IN A WAY SIMILAR TO IF YOU WERE BEING CRUSHED BY A PREGNANT GORILLA AND I FUCKING HATE YOU?
Like, how could our bodies not hate us? See this is why fashion and alternative people are so sad. 

beautilation:

god bless her for wearing sclera lenses, those things are worse than blindness because it’s blindness plus a huge piece of fucking thick silicone suctioned onto your eyeball, drying it out and making your body wonder to itself, yet again:

“why the fuck do you do this shit to me? what? because it’s cute? you are squatting over everything I have built for you and taking a big, satisfying dump on it. And no, you know what? It’s fine. By all means- please keep clogging your pores with flesh colored mystery substances, douse your scalp in toxic chemicals, pay someone to poke holes in your body, fuck your feet up, shove your body into vacuum sealed undergarments and keep getting rid of the hair I keep trying to give you. You’d think you’d take the fucking hint but apparently shit needs to get real: You know those painful razor burn bumps, wax burns and infected ingrown hairs on your yoni? THAT’S ME CALLING YOU OUT ON YOUR BULLSHIT. That horrible pain and hours of soreness after you decide to take that miniature black toboggan out of your eyeball? HI, FUCKFACE. You need to sit down because your feet feel like they’re on fire and being chewed by monkeys? MAYBE USE YOUR REAL LIFE HEELS TO WALK INSTEAD OF METAL SPIKES, I DUNNO. That freakish swelling, bruising, and pain that follows a piercing? HOW ABOUT YOU DON’T KEEP DOING THAT, I DO NOT ENJOY THAT. Oh you have a belly ache and feel like you’re going to pass out? PERHAPS IT’S THE CORSET YOU HAVE ON THAT IS STRANGLING THESE IMPORTANT ORGANS, CUTTING OFF CIRCULATION AND BENDING YOUR RIBCAGE IN A WAY SIMILAR TO IF YOU WERE BEING CRUSHED BY A PREGNANT GORILLA AND I FUCKING HATE YOU?

Like, how could our bodies not hate us? See this is why fashion and alternative people are so sad. 

(Source: skuzzlite, via ladooores)

9gag:

That’s just the place where I wanna be right now.

9gag:

That’s just the place where I wanna be right now.

Anonymous asked: Ryan Gosling was NOT Sunshine!

Oh hahah you’re right. My bad! Twas the other blondie. Thanks for correcting me, ANON!

raviolitimelord:

riddle-my-hiddles:

tardisparadox:

thestarsgowaltzingout:emilytea10:invisiblecashews:

Actually,  the photographs are spaced ten years apart, not sixteen.

1912 to 1922.

The young, homeless (but no less dapper) wanderer shown in the first survived the sinking of the Titanic and swam to the shores of West Egg. There he built a life and a large, empty house, in an effort to win the heart of the wealthy, upper class woman he’d fallen in love with a decade earlier and had been separated from against his will.

He shed his earlier identity, and changed his name to reflect his new station. Jack was now known as Jay Gatsby, the eccentric millionaire who threw parties every night in the hopes that one day his love would show up and spin with him as they had long ago in the dance hall of the lower decks.

#and he still ends up dead floating in the water

holy shit

And then, at the beginning of Inception, he starts out washed up on a shore.

still no oscar

Leo’s entire film career of unrelated projects has better continuity than glee.

(Source: margaritka2005, via julianplowden)