Everything I have ever done to avoid the truth of myself has been derailing. Telling the truth became my freedom. It’s letting go of the idea that something is shameful about my story or who I am. It’s letting go of all the stories of what might happen and letting be what is. It’s easier. It’s better. It’s freedom. Be yourself. Tell the truth.
Start now. Start where you are. Start with fear. Start with pain. Start with doubt. Start with hands shaking. Start with voice trembling but start. Start and don’t stop. Start where you are, with what you have. Just… start.
Power is lost or won, never created or destroyed. Power is a visitor to, not a possession of, those it empowers. The mad tend to crave it, many of the sane crave it, but the wise worry about its long-term side-effects. Power is crack-cocaine for your ego and battery acid for your soul.
David Mitchell, The Bone Clocks (via siruannika)
Please don’t, above all, plant me in your heart. I grow too quick.
Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.