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Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table. —W. H. Auden
Ambiguous loss. Or grief limbo.”
“We need to bear in mind that in the context of ambiguous loss, ‘closure’ is a myth. It’s easy to succumb to intense societal pressure to ‘find closure,’ and this message is drummed home by the media, reinforced in movies and in novels. It’s echoed in comments from friends and family. We live in a society that places high value on resolving problems, on finding solutions, on ‘getting over’ things quickly. But when society is faced with people who are missing, there’s a disconnect, a discomfort. They don’t know how to cope with people who are missing loved ones, or with situations that actually
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Her work defines her. She wouldn’t know who—or how—to be without it,
sweat pools under his arms. Not clean sweat. The kind that smells acrid. The stink of fear.
The food is bliss.
Take charge of that now, before it takes charge of you.”
thinking it’s all so damn perfect it was bound to go wrong.
wealthy but absent parents who thought throwing cash and independence at their boys absolved them of basic parental commitments.
to feign interest.
passion is not derived from altruism.
No person ever acts purely selflessly because humans are fundamentally wired to be self-interested. It’s basic survival instinct. Those who do charity are self-interested in their own godly salvation. They seek to be seen doing good. They crave admiration from their peers. Or they wan...
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“you’re not leaving on my account, are you? Because I’m not staying—just dropped by
his habitual recliner in front of the television set.
She almost begins to cry in anticipation of the pending emotional release.
I’m finally in a really good place, and I’m kind of afraid it’s too good to be true. Like, I’m terrified something will jinx it now.”
The empath in her is suddenly at war with her drive for self-preservation.
holding the door open wide to usher them inside.
tear down privilege in some desperate act of self-congratulatory schadenfreude.”
she’s really just too tired to even begin to articulate to herself.
A bunch of daffodils fills a vase near the sink, arranged in her mom’s haphazardly easy fashion.
This era of instant feedback sucks.
It’s a fine line—this wanting to help, but not taking away her autonomy.
Someone who has lost empathy in her hunt for clicks, for viewers, for fast-food feels.
She’s a loser who has always defaulted to inaction because it seemed safer.
honesty—while difficult—has merit.
