by John Green
i was beginning to learn that your life is a story told about you, not on that you tell.. of course, you pretend to be the author. you have to. you think, i now choose to go to lunch, when that monotone beep rings from on high at 12:37. but really the bell decides..
davis and i never talked much, or even looked at each other, but it didn’t matter, because we were looking at the same sky together, which is maybe more intimate than eye contact anyway. anybody can look at you. it’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see..t
back then all the emotions felt like play, like i was experimenting w feeling rather than stuck with it. true terror isn’t being scared; it’s not having a choice in the matter..t
we’re about to live the american dream which is of course to benefit from someone else’s misfortune
i was so good at being a kid and so terrible at being whatever i was now
1 yr to be 5 ness
i didn’t know if i should hug him, and he didn’t seem to know if he should hug me, so we just sort of stood there not touching, which to be hones is my preferred form of greeting..
whether it hurts is kind of irrelevant
what are you thinking about.. and they want you to say.. you darling.. but actually.. not really something you can say out loud, so you’re ultimately forced to choose between lying and seeming weird..
i can no more choose my thoughts than choose my name…. the way he talked about thoughts was the way i experience them.. not as a choice but as a destiny.. not a catalog of my consciousness, but a refutation of it.. when i was little, u sed to tell mom about my invasives, and she would always say, ‘just don’ think about that stuff..’ but davis got it. you can’t choose.. that’s the problem..
voluntary compliance.. ness
some way down fear that taking a pill to become myself was wrong..t
a this point i don’t care why someone likes me. i’m just so goddamned lonely.
when you lose someone, you realize you’ll eventually lose everyone
everyone is crazy these days.. adolescent sanity is so 20th cent
i can’t find the deep down part of me that’s pure or unsullied or whatever, the part of me where my soul is supposed to be. . t .. which means that i have maybe, like, no more of a soul than the bacteria do
one of the challenges w pain – physical or psychic – is that we can really only approach it thru metaphor. it can’t be rep’d the way a table or a body can. in some ways, pain is the opposite of language
and we’re such language based creatures that to some extent we cannot know what we cannot name. and so we assume it isn’t real.. t..
we refer to it as catch all terms. like crazy or chronic pain, terms that both ostracize and minimize. the term chronic pain capture nothing of the grinding, constant ceaseless inescapable hurt. and the term crazy arrives at us w none of the terror and worry you live with.. nor do either of those terms connote the courage people in such pains exemplify, which is why i’d ask you to frame your mental health around a word other than crazy.. – therapist
i think .. you will never be free from this.. i think.. you don’t pick your thoughts.. i think.. you are dying and there are guts inside of you that will eat thru your skin.. and i think and i think and i think
your now is not your forever..t
i was not always stuck inside myself or inside my selves. i wasn’t only crazy
i was always a moment behind the rest of them. they laughed because something was funny; i laughed because they had
i guess i don’t like having to live inside of a body.. i think maybe deep down i am jus an instrument that exists to turn oxygen into carbon dioxide…and it’s kind of terrifying to me that what i think of as, my ‘self’ isn’t really under my control.. .. if you can’t pick what you do or think about, then maybe you aren’t really real, you know.. maybe i’m just a lie that i’m whispering to myself..
i disgusted myself. i was revolting (sweating), but i couldn’t recoil from my self because i was stuck inside of it..
the pressing of my thumbnail against my fingertip had started off as a way of convincing myself that i was real..
you’re real but not because of your body or your thoughts… – davis
i’d been unable to think straight, unable to even finish having a thought because my thoughts came not in lines but in knotted loops curling upon themselves, in sinking quicksand, in light-swallowing wormholes..
my fav pics of my dad are the few where he’s out of focus- because that’s how people are, really,..t
edgar allan poe: the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence..t
let’s continue this awkward silence in person – davis.. t
you feeling scared?.. kinda.. of what?.. it’s not like that.. the sentence doesn’t have, like an object. i’m just scared..
i couldn’t figure out how to say any of that out loud..t
mech to listen to and facil idio jargon
it was so much easier to talk to him in the dark, looking at the same sky instead of at each other. it felt like we didn’t have bodies, like we were just voices talking..
i knew that my crazy was no longer a quirk.. now, it was an irritation.. like it was to anyone who got close to me..
i could not cinch the lasso on my thoughts, which were galloping all around my brain..
i knew he was trying to figure out how to make me happy again.. his brain was spinning right alongside mine.. i couldn’t make myself happy, but i could make people around me miserable..
what i love about science is that as you learn, you don’t really get answers. you just get better questions..
she noted, more than once, that the meteor shower was happening, beyond the overcast sky, even if we could not see it. who cares if she can kiss.. she can see thru the clouds..
instead, we were together in the non sensorial place, almost like we were inside the other’s consciousness, a closeness that real life w its real bodies could never match.
he texted me: i like us. for real. and someone i believed him
we found a way to be on a ferris wheel w/o talking about being on a ferris wheel..
it’s so weird, to know you’re crazy and not be able to do anything about it.. it’s not like you believe yourself to be normal. you know there is a problem. but you can’t figure a way thru to fixing it.. because you can’t be sure, you know. if you’re godel, you jut can’t be sure your food isn’t poisoned..
part of me wanted to tell him i loved him, but i wasn’t sure if i really did. our hearts were broken in the same places. that’s something like love, but maybe not quite the thing itself..
in the best conversations, you don’t even remember what you talked about, only how it felt.. it was like we weren’t even there, lying together by the pool. it felt like we were in some place your body can’t visit, some place w no ceiling and no walls and no floor and no instruments..
you’re trying to find the turtle at the bottom of the pile but that’s not how it works.. because it’s turtles all the way down..
i missed everybody.. to be alive is to be missing
no one ever says good bye unless they want to see you again..