what if i can't find the reason for everything?

dont you ever think that the bad things happen to you for a reason? to help you learn, to make you a better person. im sure you do, but i dont think that way. and i need explaining. 

i dont get why “ God “ put this in this world to go through so much. To get sexually abused, to get harassed, to get bullied for some bullshit mistake. We have to suffer and go through this while he's up there just watching us slowly tear apart. Slowly breaking into little pieces not even knowing who we are anymore, trying to pick these little pieces that tore us apart to put back together so we can find who we truly are. I dont get why he puts us here to suffer and see who ends up being a saint? Wont it be enough in heaven

Sometimes i really want to end it, end my life. just stop breathing, just stop dealing with so much shit going on. I try, i really try finding my something thats worth living. But theres really no point for me anymore. Theres nothing. My mom tells me i remind her of my dad, she absolutely hates my dad with a passion. Do you think thats a good thing to hear? Knowing your fucken mom hates you and HAS to be forced to love you. 

i know theres something out there for me, i do. ill find it. or maybe i wont get to that day. maybe i wont be here any longer. but at this point i dont feel anything. ive been sexually abused, and at this point ive become numb. 

i know theres many girls that have gone through this exact situation. feel the same way i am feeling. maybe you’re reading this relating to many things. or maybe you’re not? but i just want you girls to know, were powerful. we can speak up, we dont have to be abused, used in any way. I know i know i might sound crazy. You’re probably thinking “ its not that easy .” TRUST ME. i know its not but it gets better. many say that, some dont mean it. but if you keep putting shit in your head, you’re going to live with the shit thats stuck in you’re head. whether its good or bad. so make it worth living. make it worth every second of your life. were just born to die, obviously. but why be alive and having a head full of suicidal thoughts, sadness, depression. i know its hard to get that out. but slowly start thinking about the good things in your life. your friends. family. your boyfriend. your girlfriend. your dog or cat. anything. memories will last forever. and if you cant think of anything that makes you happy. then you have to find something that’ll not only make you happy, but make you the person you are. strong. beautiful, gorgeous personality. a wholesome person. you’re perfect. fuck everyones thoughts. you’re going to make the best out of your life. 

promise me that. 

       i promise u, i will.... ashley -


find ash here

what are we doing this year? (quarter life crisis)

If you have reached the age of twenty, or are currently living this special year, a year in which, essentially, shit starts to hit the fan. Your high school friends randomly find success while you sit in bed amongst your depression crumbs. I was just lucky enough to have my life fall apart a week after I celebrated this special birthday. I’m trying to make it through the remaining three months of this year, maybe this will help you, maybe this will help me.


My crisis began on September 4th, 2017 as I awoke to my ex-boyfriend in bed. He was from Los Angeles, had super tan skin, and dreamy blue eyes. I remember him leaning over to kiss me, whispering happy birthday, and then getting out of bed to go brush his teeth. As he swayed over to his bathroom, the realization of turning twenty dawned on me, and I immediately began to deny all aspects of my birthday. This was not something that I felt ready for, but I had this amazing boyfriend, and really great I got up and celebrated appropriately.


Two weeks after I turned twenty and confessed to him that I was riddled with insecurities, he dumped me over the phone while I sat in my family’s backyard. I sat there for an hour and fought it, telling him that I simply disagreed, and that we were going to stay together. However, it was not until a month passed, filled with manipulation and him denying my experience with sexual assault, that I realized, hey, maybe this could be a fresh start? Maybe I could become this super independent woman who has an internship, no digestive issues, and knows exactly what she’s doing. I entered the month of November ready to take on whatever got in my way.


Well November did not make the cut. Neither did December, or January, or any of the following months leading up to now. I floated through the year battling my way through family struggles, mental illness, and financial issues



Routine has always been something that I treasure deep within my heart. I’m a true virgo to the core, and as much as I deny it, I get off on the idea of everything being in order. When I ended my relationship, I felt as though everything was completely out of my hands. Whatever I was expecting to happen, was not happening the way I had planned it in my mind. This lack of control resulted in a spike of anxiety, where I would literally be looking over my shoulder everywhere I went. I did not feel safe, I wanted to drop out, and there was nothing I did that satisfied my hunger for solidity.


The person I knew myself to be had completely left. I did not know what I was passionate about anymore, the detailed plans I had for the year had fallen through, and I felt isolated. Isolation is a key ingredient in having an existential crisis. A lot of time was spent in my room, on my computer, watching videos of shiba inus. Currently, I’m subscribed to four channels in which viewers are presented with montages of shibas running around completely free from the weight of societal pressure.


I would go on runs and get home and sit in the shower, letting the ice water fall onto my back. Journaling was a thing, too, I wrote every day for two months, and each entry was about how I was nothing and that I felt nothing. I turned to art, as well, something that once gave me solace. Even though I was creating pounds and pounds of art, I hated all of it, it was all uninspired gibberish. I felt myself competing with someone, something, that simply did not exist. This competition I had created in my mind drove me to impulsive decisions and forced me into a corner that I still remain in today. This competition, I’ve realized, is a direct result of the society that young people are growing up in. Everything has a due date, everyone has a small amount of time to accomplish something that their ancestors took centuries to reach.


Do this today, finish this by then, accomplish everything that you’ve been wanting to by the time you are twenty-five. But at the same time, stay on social media, see others reaching the finish line before you’ve even gotten a chance to fucking show up on the field. Interact with your friends, maintain relationships, call your mom, go to class, and write that paper about that thing that in reality, has no effect on anyone anywhere! It’s exhausting, and I know you are tired too. Everyone is running out of energy during a time in their life where having motivation and ambition should come naturally. So if you are twenty, or about to turn twenty…...


Remember who you were when you were ten. A decade has passed, you’ve had time to recklessly experience life, and now you are being told that ten-year-old you is just a distant memory of a person. However, that person is still somewhere. You have to experience life, while knowing that people are going to try and filter you in order to determine whether or not you have what it takes to blend into the background. But goddammit, do not blend.


Do not form a life plan that allows you to feel comfortable. For your own sake, and for everyone elses, be uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, that what results from it will leave a positive impact on the people who interact with you on a daily basis.


Ten-year-old you did not know the difference between being uncomfortable or not. They simply got up in the morning, put on their K-Swiss’, or whatever, and headed into school to learn about long division. The simplicity of those times, allowed for the purity of imagination to blossom. That same pureness, and that same willingness to just live, is the only thing that can relieve you of that existential crisis.


So while this year may seem as though it’s a permanent addition to who you are as a person, it is important to remember that although you’ve experienced hardship, or a complete revamping of who you believe yourself to be, this year is about a choice. That choice being, whether or not to stay hopeful and ambitious for what is to come, or to fall into the depths of adulthood, struggling to fit a societal mold. It’s not always clear how exactly to make the right choice, but within the following years I’m sure we’ll figure out how.


find shannen here

You're just like your mother

Chest heavying, crazy eyes fixated on the wall, back against the door, these words rattle through every fiber of the house as my father shouts them at me from down the hallway.

Everything spins, and it doesn’t stop for hours, even after he thinks the argument is over and everything is all smiles. A too cold house on a summers day; I’m shivering when I shouldn’t be. My greatest fear exists in too perfect households and mothers who exist for all the reasons they tell you not to. I am bitter and angry with it, the idea of becoming my parents. It hides in the way I laugh, my short temper, or how I talk louder then I should, just as my mother does. I see it in how I look exactly like my father’s dead mother or whenever people tell me that I have my mother’s eyes. It seems inescapable.


I know my dad once shared the same fear I do, and the most terrifying part is now seeing him have become a carbon copy of his own father. Same old, same old, nonsense, bullshit yet somehow here he is, everything he once hated now coats his own personality like an old medal foil that’s taken years to rust. It’s the little things of course, you wouldn’t be able to notice it at first glance. But then you realize that his’s dialogue almost identical, and the way he over explains everything is well, like father like son. Generation to generation, like a family emblem. I can’t allow myself to think about it too much.


With every parent there is a good and a bad side. As their children, we see the bad side more often than any other people. We see the way our parents act and we realize that we never want to be like that.


I tell myself that its ok to pick out the bad in your parents, to acknowledge and take note of it, and then monitor my own personality for these traits. When I come across one of them, I try to see what’s triggering it. The best way to improve is to look at the people around you and pick out the good, and throw away the bad.


You don’t have to allow yourself to grow into your parents. The people you were raised around don’t have to define who you are or what you will become. You are so much more than your mother’s eyes. 

squeaky shoes and how the small things become big things when you are dealing with anxiety

A few nights ago I had to work an overnight shift at the clothing store I work at.

There were about five of us there, spread out all across the store and our main focus of the night was to bring new clothing out onto the floor. The store was silent and we all had our own headphones in, each of us trying to bring some comfort to ourselves when it was that early and that dark out. So, I’m folding a stack of pants when I realize that I am a couple sizes short. I’m going to have to walk all the way across the store and into the back room to get more sizes. I start walking and a bit of discomfort sets in because my shoes squeak as I start to walk.

They squeak and there’s that small squish of air that makes a sound with every step I take. I feel uncomfortable and hold my head down, hurrying with my squeaking feet to head to the back room where it’s loud and I can walk alone.

I’ve dealt with anxiety my whole life, so as one part of me is embarrassed for the squeaking shoes, the other part is already trying to talk myself down.

“No one was listening to the sound of your feet, they were listening to music” I tell myself. “You were just walking, it’s not like there’s anything funny or weird about that” & “the squeaks were only loud enough for you to hear because you were paying attention to yourself”.

I start to search for the sizes I need and I begin to wonder what it is that embarrasses me so much about if my shoe makes a tiny squeak when I walk. Is there anything truly embarrassing about that?

I’ve been like this my whole life. In school I used to be embarrassed if I ever had to cough or sneeze during class. In the middle of tests I would have to work up the courage to push my chair out, walk with squeaky shoes, to deliver my test to the teacher. There are so many situations like this that have made me anxious or embarrassed and I never realized why until that night.

I have such little value for myself that sometimes I feel like it’s a crime that I even exist. 

If I cough in a public place then I am bothering someone. My shoes squeaking must have been an inconvenience to my coworkers.

I don’t own my presence and that is my problem.

Realizing this is going to help me though. I want to walk with confidence and assurance. I want to feel like I can breathe without worrying about how it might make someone else feel. I want to learn to stop saying sorry and start stomping my way around instead of taking small mouselike steps.


My shoes are going to squeak and I want to learn to be alright with that.


jake sodaro is my classmate. though we barely know each other, there is something very pungent about him, to me

right now he wears black tennis shoes with white and silver stitching and laces, it looks like. starting with the unimportant details for no particular reason because i need to learn, by (trial and) error, that i’m better when i have a reason


he sits in class like an obviously distressed but pretending-unsuccessfully-to-be-polite-and-patient child. and i’ve noticed that he-


<fuck, i think he’s a reflection of me. through one lens. he is surely a messenger from God, planted here to teach me, without words: divine, and without my permission yet because of my own true concoction of a lens, truths about myself. but isn’t everyone? this is getting scary, but thankfully this is also only one method>


-is often critical of people who are happily exercising their freedoms, so critical that he gives the impression of being jealous. i wouldn’t realize that i do this too if it weren’t for this messenger


i feel so bad for jake sodaro right now, and for me, for knowing that he doesn’t know that the person he thinks nothing of who is sitting next to him, who he could see typing, if he chose to look, is actually typing words about him, and typing, more specifically, a pretentious, assuming analysis that is probably, and probably definitely (possible? but who cares), is so utterly untrue, but it gives her solace anyway because she is still so insecure and desperate that she will accept just about anything. i’m so, so, so incredibly sorry. you had to be the one.


<often times, instead of participating, i prefer to observe and gleam in amazement at the general concept of what they’re doing (anyone)>


<and: writing and conservation of mass: from nothing to so much of something, so quickly; only 3-and-a-half brains>


<i’m always getting these epiphanies about *how to be*, *next*>


<wow, connecting brands with people… american or what?>


he wears, and always, a headset: reminiscent of something i’d imagine uncle steve (…Praying For You…another messenger) wearing. like someone who’s been anticipating a message, any message, for years. with such great anticipation that they make themselves, or rather their entire lives, available for reception. kind of like me. an also-ashamed part of me. except i use not a headset but a different sort of message-reception device: i sustain myself for years and just *feel* anticipatory during that. usually-falsely anticipatory is my aura. so is jake’s, maybe. at least i acknowledge that i’m probably wrong. and apparently i receive messages from people who wait for messages by always wearing a headset, until i decide later to continue anticipating a more explicit message. >need person who wear bigger headset? stop


sometimes i am a little too harsh with jake sodaro. sometimes i correct him, sometimes i make fun of his candy-eating habits (of which i have my own and am exercising as i sit here writing this bullshit... binch), sometimes i cackle not just freely, but confidently, at something i find to be absurd, and, subconsciously, give and accept, myself, the permission to shrug off my crudity, unlike the me literally anywhere else, only when he is around, as if his presence gives me permission to be my worst self so that i realize what my worst self is so that i stop being my worst, even sometimes. 


<let’s try this new thing where we update one singular note throughout the entire day. <<and use a strategic format in each document.>>>


<i let myself go free range for, like, a year. thought that was the way to be but now i think (it is right to think that) i was wrong, but right, for a while, to have thought that i was right. now it’s time to pull it in, or add some shelving, but not completely, of course>


<whenever i see ppl running i think well what the fuk are u running from??>




(1) The document shall be divided into sections on the basis of singular ideas or ‘phases of ideas’: ideas that collectively follow a particular, identifiable pattern or are exuded within temporal proximity to each other. Each section shall be labeled using a numerical schematic

Stuck in an Inspiration Rut

Random periods of time, but especially during winter, I fall into those lapses where inspiration evades me. Once I was dancing around streets, pointing out every flower and bird carrying a cake crumb and bright yellow windowsill, and now I walk down the street in a daze. When I fall into these ruts, the world looks different. Less promising, less exciting, less enticing.

One thing leads to another, and because I am not inspired to create, I find myself binge watching Dexter or Breaking Bad again or gorging myself on sugary pop culture. Keep to myself in the same four walls for more of the day, because I look outside and see the rain dripping down and think, ick, I don't want to leave the comfort of my bed. And I wonder, why aren't I getting inspired? When will I get out of this rut?

Here is a little guide- for me as well as for you- for ways to pull ourselves out of this dead ditch where nothing interesting is happening, and life is passing us by. We all fall into this from time to time, and it does take a bit of effort to pull yourself out, but once you are on the other side it's back to creating, smiling at the little things, and authentically living.

You can do one of these a day for a week, or pick and choose ones that work the best for you, or do them all today (godspeed). But here are ways we can pull ourselves out of the dreaded inspiration rut.

  1. You Are What You Eat- In general, the Creative Pep Talk podcast is GREAT whenever you need a little kick to be creative, but this one episode in particular really brings things into perspective. OBVIOUSLY my time spent watching Dexter analyze blood spatter isn't going to inspire me to write or create or want to film, it's just going to make me want to click on the next episode and see if he ends up killing the guy. This podcast breaks it down into three categories, you are what you see, you are what you smell, and you are what you taste. If you are confused- listen to the podcast!
  2. Buy Yourself a Brand New Journal- My shelves are already lined with different patterned notebooks and every color of moleskin, but it can be a bit depressing trying to continue in a journal where previous passages are charged with inspiration. Give yourself the blank slate to start, a breath of fresh air, and create or write without any expectations.
  3. Watch ANY Wes Anderson film-This works for me every time. My favorites are The Life Aquatic and Moonrise Kingdom.
  4. Find some new music- Those songs that you already know all the words to are great, but they are mindless now. Listen to something that is going to excite you in a new way. I put together a new playlist for you on The Messy Heads sound cloud.
  5. Go Vintage Shopping- Head to an antique mall or local thrift store, coffee in hand. Even if you have no money to buy anything, just poking around at old painted dishes, masks, clip on earrings, and dial telephones will spark something of visual interest.
  6. Take a Class on Coursera- Whenever I am under stimulated by life, the best way to pull myself out is to learn something new. Some catching my eye- Music of the Beatles, How To Change the World, Seeing Through Photographs, and Dog Emotion & Cognition.
  7. Plan something out of the ordinary- Instead of the typical, "I don't care what we do" plan something with a friend. Go on an adventure. Go on a bike ride out in nature, visit a museum, try baking and decorating cupcakes from scratch, drive an hour out just to go get breakfast and see the trees blur by you. Just breaking routine cracks the surface and lets inspiration pour in.