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I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness.
It really was such a shame, the way you could be so careful, and for so long, and then go ahead and undo it all in the end, as though nothing had ever been held together by anything at all.
Her nocturnal predominance, her satellitic dependence, her luminary reflection. Her constancy under all her phases, rising and setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning. The forced invariability of her aspect, her indeterminate response to inaffirmative interrogation, her potency over effluent and refluent waters. Her power to enamour, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, to incite to and aid delinquency. The tranquil inscrutability of her visage: the terribility of her isolated dominant resplendent propinquity, her omens of tempest and of calm. The stimulation of her light, her motion and her presence. The admonition of her craters, her arid seas, her silence. Her splendour, when visible. Her attraction, when invisible.
You are not alone. You are instead lonely. There is loneliness as can exist only in the midst of numbers and numbers of people who don’t know you, who don’t care about you, who won’t let you care about them.
Quote from The Strawberry Statement: Notes of a College Revolutionary by James S. Kunen in Popular Culture - Quote published by Gabrielle 8 months ago ()
What? she said once to herself, and then once aloud, What? She felt a total displacement, like a spinning globe brought to a sudden halt by the light touch of a finger. How did she end up here, like this? How could there have been so much -- so many moments, so many people and things, so many razors and pillows, timepieces and subtle coffins -- without her being aware? How did her life live itself without her?
My name is Gabrielle and I am twenty-eight years old. I began to self-injure at age fifteen -- so nearly thirteen years minus a two year period. This website is one about self-injury (self-harm), made to let self-injurers know that they are not alone and to help their friends and family learn more about self-injury and how it affects their loved one.
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