I know that you didn’t want to go out today and I know that it feels like a small flock of sparrows are using your stomach for a bird bath.
I know you want to run away and cry and I know you just want to be alone.
I know that in the hot summer air, with what feels like a rhinoceros sitting on your windpipe, sometimes it gets hard to breathe.
I know it’s hard to answer the incessant question of “Are you alright?” When all you want is forty eight seconds of silence in your head.
I know that every part of you feels exposed to peoples’ judging eyes.
But I also know that every time you’ve wanted to quit, you haven’t.
And that you’re chest will continue to ride and fall so long as you keep breathing.
You’ve climbed mountains taller and braved deeper oceans. This will not stop you now.
You can do this.
Come on, breath in.
It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days…Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly, my darling.
— Aldous Huxley, Words I Needed To Tell Myself (via acupofkeen)