Even though I'm hardly eating anything, I'm strangely not hungry. Maybe I'm turning an insect too haha.
I don’t live independently. I never have. I don’t know if I could or not. I probably could if I had to, though maybe not as successfully as I’d like to pretend.
“I know exactly who she is,” Hawke shot back. “Not what she is. Maybe you’ve forgotten that she’s not just a godsdamn inanimate object whose only purpose os to serve a kingdom, but I haven’t”
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“Where's Simon?" Clary interrupted.
Isabelle wobbled. "He's a rat," she said darkly.
Did he do something to you?" Alec was full of brotherly concern. "Did he touch you? If he tried anything-"
No, Alec," Isabelle said irritably. "Not like that. He's a rat."
She's drunk," said Jace, beginning to turn away in disgust.
I'm not," Isabelle said indignantly. "Well, maybe a little, but that's not the point. The point is, Simon drank one of those blue drinks- I told him not to, but he didn't listen- and he turned into a rat.”
oha birebir benim düşüncelerim. cidden lan
I feel I have sacrificed the gifts from my Aspieness in order to fit in. Maybe if I had been diagnosed earlier I would not have spent a whole life trying to fit in, and would have been able to forgive my own social deficits, thus saving the energy and intellect required to pretend to be normal, which I could have dedicated to things that I really wanted to do, such as research into science and/or languages. (Woman with autism)
“Okay, maybe it’s not so crazy after all. But I don’t have money to invest right now….”
“Oh, I’m not looking for investors. I need someone to test it.”
“And you think I’ve got the dick for the job?”
So I’ll give you a minute to unpretzel your brain and maybe read that again: Wanting positive experience is a negative experience; accepting negative experience is a positive experience. It’s what the philosopher Alan Watts used to refer to as “the backwards law”—the idea that the more you pursue feeling better all the time, the less satisfied you become, as pursuing something only reinforces the fact that you lack it in the first place.
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“But I’m not going to tell you all of that,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
The wind seemed to pause, the sunlight on the lake brightening.
He said, “I am going to tell you that you will get through it. That you will face all of this, and you will get through it. That these tears are good, Nesta. These tears mean you care. I am going to tell you that it is not too late, not for any of it. And I can’t tell you when, or how, but it will get better. What you feel, this guilt and pain and self-loathing—you will get through it. But only if you are willing to fight. Only if you are willing to face it, and embrace it, and walk through it, to emerge on the other side of it. And maybe you will still feel that tinge of pain, but there is another side. A better side.”
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I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Am I lucky? Am I lucky that I didn’t die? Am I lucky that, compared to the other kids here, my life doesn’t seem so bad? Maybe I am, but I have to say, I don’t feel lucky. For one thing, I’m stuck in this pit. And just because your life isn’t as awful as someone else’s, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You can’t compare how you feel to the way other people feel. It just doesn’t work. What might look like the perfect life—or even an okay life—to you might not be so okay for the person living it.
