Latest Posts by peachesandrain - Page 3
“I don't believe in God, but I believe that you're my saviour” might be one of the most devastating lyrics of a song if you understand it, that I relate to. LIKE I COULD GO ON ABOUT THIS FOR DAYS.
football has been such a big part of my life, for as long as I can remember.
so many people around me don’t understand the love I have for the sport, but they’ll never truly understand how vital it has been to me. my team, my club, to me its home.
I’ve been going to Stamford bridge since I was a kid, I know the stadium as well as I know my childhood home. over the years, kingsmeadow has become home too.
the sport, this club, it gives me something to believe in. I mean, isn’t that what most people want anyways? something they can wholeheartedly believe in. sport, for so many people, give them that belief.
there’s something safe and easy about standing in a crowd with thousands of fans just like you, all in that one moment, cheering on your team. it’s a weird feeling, one I can’t describe but try to chase. the pure joy, the comfort, the delight and rush as you watch goals be conceded or scored, the rush you get of excitement, or the dread that follows a hard loss. the unwavering determination that you will come back from this.
both teams winning today, I know that’s fucking right!!!! LETS GO BLUES, UP THE CHELS!!! 💙💙
The WSL remains superior 🤪💙
there’s a comfort in having a friend with the same disorder as you, like she gets me like nobody else in this world does!!! and I love her so much, because even when things differ between stuff we struggle with, etc, she understands, when no one else ever has before.
women’s football is so important to me, as a girl who grew up watching men’s football and fell in love with the sport at such a young age, to grow up and reach an age where I was conscious of the fact that women played professionally too!! and then to watch it broadcasted?!? It was revolutionary for me. I’ll never shut up about how important it is that the sport gets coverage, and the attention it deserves. I could go on for hours, it probably a problem.
Lucy Bronze in a Chelsea shirt almost had me crying last night, she looks so good 😭
one day, I will not cry myself to sleep at the mere thought of you.
the gasps and sobs claw their way out of my throat, as desperate as a plea to be heard. my body wracks with sobs as I silently feel myself fall apart.
it’s one of those days where nothing I say or do is right. I get screamed at that I don’t listen to what they’re saying. but when was the last time they stopped raising their voices every time I opened my mouth to talk? when was the last time they acknowledged what I was saying, actually listened to what I was saying.
sometimes I think they’re too busy trying to argue with me, and tear me apart at the seams, rather than actually hear what I have to say.
I have so much to say.
In September, I’ll be the first person in my family to ever go to university.
It comes with expectations, ones that will weigh me down at times, I have no doubt about it. It’s weird knowing there’s no one I can turn to, to ask what it’s like. I’ll be the first to do it, to experience it.
I have to remind myself to be proud. It’s an achievement I never thought I’d reach. 2 years ago I never thought I’d be alive, let alone about to go to university.
It’s weird and strange, and a whole hoard of emotions I’m sure I won’t work through for a while. But for now, I have to remind myself to breathe, and that I’ll be okay. And most importantly, I did something I never thought I’d do. I’ve reached a point I never thought I’d get to, that at least is something to be proud of.
next year I’ll be 20. an age I never thought I’d reach. I never truly envisioned a life past sixteen. I had far fetched dreams, stuff I told the people around me to appease them, but I never truly thought it would happen. I never thought I’d get this far. It’s slightly surreal, like I’m in some sort of limbo, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
my family, especially my parents, love to scream at me, “I’m the third parent.”
maybe in a way I am. for the last five, almost six years, I was thrust into a role I never wanted. when I was supposed to be merely their sister, I had to become something of a parent to my siblings.
I changed nappies, I wiped away their tears, I gave them comforting hugs when something happened, I’m the one who cheers them on from the sidelines, I made sure they were awake and had eaten breakfast, I got them to school, I make sure they’ve eaten and get to bed, and have done their homework. It was me, who went to the parent-teacher conferences, me who went in when they had problems at school to sort them out and talk to teachers. It was me who sat with the oldest of my younger siblings, talking her through 6th form and her choices and results day, and now universities. It’s still me who does all of this.
so yeah, am I a third parent in the family? you could probably say that. but it was never something I chose, never something I wanted. It was just a role I had to fill, to keep some semblance of normal, and keep my crumbling home life together.
I love the trend of mlm teen shows being cute romances, heartfelt moments, dealing with school etc. And then the wlw teen shows are like What if you're all trapped in the wilderness and forced to survive and you come up with intricate rituals and you can't live with or without each other and you're suffering and constantly facing death and...
god gives his most niche fandoms to his most autistic warriors
season 8 we’ll finally get the answer 🙏
“what’s going on with buckley and diaz” a question we’ve been trying to answer for six seasons
my dreams are a scary place to be because they always mean something
allistic people will never understand how consuming a hyper-fixation can be, whether you like it or not.
I’ve known death since the minute I was born, and though the fact is somewhat dark; I think of death as an old friend. He provides a comfort to those I have loved so dearly that living could no longer give them. I choose to think of death as a positive thing, rather than something to be feared. It is inevitable, and one day I will meet him too.
me coded as fuck
fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’
[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]
I feel so full of secrets I don’t know what to do with them anymore.
I see you in my dreams, maybe one day it’ll become my reality
and you’re telling me THEYRE NOT ENDGAME?!?
this job takes. a lot. but you know what it gives? it gives me you
telling myself we will get garvez and buddie canon because if we don’t I might go insane
Catching up on criminal minds evolution while waiting for 911 s8 is a special kind of torture when I ship both garvez and buddie
If I had a nickel for everytime i shipped the blonde sunshine character (who’s also traumatised and has adhd) with their close friend (who is Latino and who has a heart of gold and big brown cow eyes) and who they hated at first because they’re the new guy but then grew to love shortly after except now they’re not with them and are instead in a love triangle with a white man who’s name starts with T then I’d have two nickels- which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice
sometimes I scare myself with the anger that lies within me. It sits dormant, waiting for the time to rise and make itself known. and when it does, it consumes me and comes out in angry heaving sobs as I gasp to scream what I’ve kept hidden underneath the surface for so long. I can’t remember the last time I was angry and shouted without crying. without the ensuing meltdown that typically follows. maybe it is never truly anger I feel, not wholly anyways. It’s tainted by other emotions, other feelings.
maybe this makes me bitter, at least I think it does to some degree. It scares me how angry I can be sometimes, how much rage I have within me. angry at the people around me, at the world, at the circumstances I am presented with, as I cling to the mere notion it has to be some sort of higher power surely testing me. for what I’m not sure, maybe I’ll never know. maybe I don’t want to.
I’ve been to more funerals than weddings.
For a long time all I could think about was, “please dear god, don’t let me have to bury anyone else. I can’t handle it.”
but I did, somehow. for the eighteen years I’ve spent alive, I’ve buried loved one after loved one with no reprise wondering when would I ever catch a break. The answer is.. well never.
I’ve always dreaded funerals, I’ve never been good at saying goodbye. It’s too permanent, too real, and some part of my brain cannot comprehend that I won’t see this person again.
It doesn’t feel real, I wonder if it ever will.
I try to think of funerals now as a way of celebrating someone’s life, rather than losing them to whatever comes next. It provides little solace for the hole they leave behind, but a small comfort nonetheless.
I look forward to the day I can think about them and not have my breath hitch, the panic setting in, and think of them fondly without breaking down. maybe that future will never come for me.
grief is a funny thing. It hits you at the most unexpected of times. its soul shattering and steals your breath in an instance.
knowing that every big milestone of my life is tainted by grief for everyone around me, and guilt on my end about the fact that there should’ve been two of us going through it together. I feel guilty for surviving, even though it’s not my fault, and it was a matter of circumstances. It’s weird knowing I’m grieving a half of me, a person I never got to meet and grow up with.
far too many of my Spotify playlists are about her. And yet I feel like they all still don’t convey how I feel 😔