i should tattoo the word 'wrong' on my cornea

this show is amazing. not only monk is incredibly funny (and obsessive-compulsive), he is also constantly dealing with the loss of his wife, so that very often the show acquires decidedly more intimate tones. when it happens, it hurts, but i'm somehow healing myself even through these little things.

marcia ellison: it's still how she left it. do you want to go in? there might be something you want to keep adrian monk: i can't marcia ellison: i know. it took me 2 and half years adrian monk: how did you do it, marcia? how did you survive? marcia ellison: i didn't think i would. i was buried alive adrian monk: buried alive marcia ellison: and then one day, the sun came up. my garden was blooming. kids were riding by the house on their bikes, and i decided to give the world a second chance. it's still a beautiful world, adrian

at this point i think i have to distance my sister a little bit more. it seems too easy for her to project her feelings onto me, and i'm tired. i'm only incredibly gentle to her, and extremely understanding, it is in my will to be nothing but a good guidance, but i now feel deprived of joy, if not downright sad to see how easily she can create a discussion out of nothing just because she is nervous. and it's not just about that, obviously, but the point is that i'm done. i'm done being the lightning rod of others. i have to deal with myself first. i must affirm myself first. that's all.

i feel empty. and bored. i have alredy seen the lord of the rings few days ago, but i need to see it again. to corroborate my spiririt a little bit more.

continui tentativi di fingere la vita o tentarla, aggrapparmici un solo dente alla volta, ossia, con tutta la forza possibile, ma non saldamente. e così cambiare palestra ancora, dopo un mese di infiniti malanni, e così iniziare a prendere lezioni di francese, ed un nuovo piccolo lavoro domenicale sperando il ritorno a torino si avvicini. sento crampi allo stomaco e mi sento cambiare. la mia immagine allo specchio rimanda ad ogni dolore d'infanzia e fino allo strappo finale, ed io faccio il mio gioco posturale, poi la mia ginnastica quasi punitiva per restituirlo a me (non a me-me: alla me-mentale, laddove io abito). il vuoto del pomeriggio mi sfianca. distendo sul divano e aspetto cali il sole e col chiaro di luna, giunga chiarezza. e nel frattempo la morsa della fame non s'arresta. non so se per fortissima libido o purissima destrudo.

continuous attempts to fake life or attempt it, cling to it one tooth at a time, that is, with all the strength possible, but not so firmly. and so: to change gym again, after a month of illness, and so: to start taking french lessons, and so: a new small sunday job hoping the return to turin gets closer. i feel stomach cramps and i feel like i'm changing. my image in the mirror refers to every pain of childhood and up to the final tear, and i play my postural game, then my almost punitive gymnastics to give it back to me (not to me-me: to the mental-me, where i suit). the emptiness of the afternoon exhausts me. i lie down on the sofa and wait for the sun to fall and, with the moonlight, for clarity to come. and in the meantime the grip of hunger does not stop. i don't know whether due to very strong libido or pure destrudo.

that's a very precious work my best friend made about me. it's a story of resonance, sorority, sorrow, truth. tomorrow, there will be the screening of the film. if you like the project, please like or share the ig post. thanks a lot

my natural position is lying down

listen to me: since today i tried some clothes and felt incredibly fat while looking at myself in the mirror, i binged and purged, but since i also decide that tomorrow i'll start a new diet and go back to the gym, i have just eaten a whole pack of biscuits. classic bulimic logic

i need it so bad!!

sculptor worldwide “keepsake” bag

last night i felt so bad for failing some Eraclito teachings that i had to ask God to forgive me. i'm ashamed of myself

to be perfect, to be pure, to be perfect, to be pure

i restart from here

something′s got a hold of my head and it won't leave me alone

non so più scrivere perchè non riesco più a pensare. avevo un baluginio mentale alcuni anni fa, che ora è andato via, e questo mi affligge molto più di quanto chiunque possa credere. perchè senza il motore della mente o la ricerca dell'immagine, io non mi sento più io. cosa succede? cosa devo fare? dove posso guardare?

i can't write anymore because i can't think anymore. i had a mental glimmer a few years ago, which is now gone, and it distresses me much more than anyone would believe. because without the engine of the mind or the search for the image, i no longer feel like myself. what is going on? what should i do? where can i look?

for time immemorial, i just experience unbearable sensations

i'm ill most of the time. but i don't know how to decipher this message yet

i think u r beautiful person and wonderful person too as well also ! ! u r my fav thing about this website : - ) take care of self bye ! !

i can't handle all these compliments. thanks a lot. take care of yourself too *