Ah, Fine Literature.

—female rage

? // medusa by caravaggio // gregory radionov // artemisia gentileschi // monstrous flesh: on women’s bodies in horror by rebecca harknis-cross // carrie (1976) // corruption by camille norton // midsommar (2019) // helen of troy does countertop dancing by margaret atwood // medusa in her throne by reza sedhi

Kostel svatého Jiří (St. George’s Church) also known as "ghost church" in Luková, Czech Republic

complicated relationships with your parents are like. you cut up fruit and bring it to my room without me asking. i can't remember the last time you told me that you were proud of me. you told me i wasn't good enough for you but i'm not even good enough for myself. your hugs feel like coming home. i can't tell you anything that happens in my life. i doubt myself every day because of something you said to me when i was eight. would you like to hear about my day? please don't ask me about my day. i miss you even though you're in the next room. i wish we didn't live together. i've never loved or resented anyone as much as i've loved and resented you. are you okay? are we okay? are we ever going to be okay?

Erica Jong, Sappho's Leap; from 'Talking to Aphrodite'

Reblog this if you're the eldest daughter who had to mature at a really young age, were always seen as the 'quiet and unproblematic' one, were the overachiever of the family, were the so-called 'perfect child', so now you're literally terrified of doing anything wrong because you don't want to ruin your reputation and whenever you try to tell anyone about your fears or insecurities they just brush it off like "lol why would you think that you're worrying for no reason"

look, i know i'll get through it because i've gotten this far already, but i don't want to. i don't want to continue to work hard, i don't want to push through, i don't even want any reassurance. i just want rest. let me rest. why is rest so hard to come by?

i hope everything reminds you of me. not as a blessing, as a curse.

  ― Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

[text ID: To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.]

"Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to really grasp ever at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself - quite to one's surprise - in an entirely different world."

-Donna Tartt; The Secret History

Wish I was wandering the snow dusted grounds of a crumbling manor right now, wrapped in a velvet cloak