I'm becky.
I'm 19
I'm shy
I'm extremely short.
I live in Scotland.
and I'm awkward as fuck.

"If you want to find out who your real friends are, sink the ship."

My face


The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the side walk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling. David Foster Wallace (via rabbittongue)

(Source: yeshecholwa, via rabbittongue)

1,730 notes


Sasha Grey, from the book “NEÜ SEX
Photographs by Ian P. Cinnamon

(via gore-pop)

13,355 notes
I cannot stand small talk, because I feel like there’s an elephant standing in the room shitting all over everything and nobody is saying anything. I’m just dying to say, “Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?” or “Do you feel an emptiness inside your chest at night that is going to swallow you?” But you can’t say that at a cocktail party. Paul Gilmartin, The Mental Illness Happy Hour (via ongradschool) 46,507 notes

Anonymous said: I think you're lovely and amazing. Please keep going.

I appreciate that you care but there’s not really much you can say that’s going to help. 

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I don’t think i’m ever going to want to be alive. I wish I could kill myself and make it look like an accident. 

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I’m a goner. It’s tearing me all up inside. I can’t help it. I’ve never been able to help anything.  Ernest Hemingway, from The Sun Also Rises (via ignum)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via nectarblood)

580 notes

I stayed in bed for over an hour
looked at things on my phone
I felt slightly anxious about nothing particular
I walked downstairs and poured coffee into a jar
I asked a person on the internet if I should take drugs
I took drugs before the person had time to respond

I feel alienated by people who express concern about me without
defining their concern in terms of a specific solution or goal
I dont feel comforted by the idea of an afterlife
I dont want to continue experiencing things after I die
I want someone to pull my hair because I like the idea of someone
controlling my head without touching my head

what is the difference between being an independent person
and being a person who is accepting of loneliness

“Today My Alarm Went Off at 12:30 p.m.,” Mira Gonzalez (via commovente)

(via gore-pop)

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(Source: alunaes, via gore-pop)

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Wall Piece with 200 Letters (Kiasma)From the movie “Ansiktet” by  Ingmar Bergman (1958)MIKKO KUORINKI

Wall Piece with 200 Letters (Kiasma)
From the movie “Ansiktet” by  Ingmar Bergman (1958)

(Source: boyirl, via gore-pop)

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♫ 15,486


here is a demo of a song that will be on my new album (recorded by and with taylor)

i shot an angel with my father’s rifle
i should have set it free but i let it bleed
made it into taxidermy, hung it on my wall
i shot an angel, kept it in my backyard
hung it out to dry on the clothing line
pinned above my bed
like the cross of jesus christ
on the wall

and i know one day hell will catch up with me
and i’m sure that i will burn eternally
one day it will come to claim its pound of flesh
when it’s done there won’t be anything left

i shot an angel, dragged it to my basement
starved it til it died and i did not cry
sickness of poacher’s pride

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and i knew it was bad
when i woke up in the mornings
and the only thing i looked
forward to was going
back to bed
poems from my uncle’s grave (via a-ngxr)

(Source: irynka, via basedswagtan)

203,276 notes


realistically the space under my bed is very small so if a monster did in fact live there it would have to also be very small

it would be some kind of baby monster

i would have to look after it

(via dyspraspie)

41,451 notes