The other day at work a lady brought her son in for lunch, and waited to order for her parents to join her. They ordered a pizza and a pitcher of soda- she couldn’t talk very well but she tried very hard to make conversation with me about things from her child to our menu. She couldn’t read very well either, and I spent quite a bit of time at this table explaining the foods and our menu and helping her try to afford her “budget” that she hadn’t shared with me. Her family and her ate and enjoyed their meal.
These people didn’t annoy me at all, and it touched me really that this woman clearly had a handful and she was so excited to treat her mother and father to dinner.
At the end of their meal, I boxed their food and brought them their bill. When I went back to cash her out, she was counting change and she appeared flustered, she started explaining to me she didn’t have enough, and she went over her budget, and she kept apologizing to me over and over again- I took the bill with me and told her to keep her change. I paid the rest of her bill for her, and she kept apologizing to me. I could tell she was embarrassed, and she didn’t have a tip except for the change she was counting, but her son was so preoccupied by the arcade room throughout their whole meal, I told her to keep it, and she brought him over to the games afterward which was cool because that’s what I hoped she would do with it. Her parents asked for my name and thanked me, and said they really appreciated what I did, and that they apologized and explained that their daughter still had some things to work on. They wanted to request me and tell my boss I needed a raise.
I didn’t do these things for a raise, or for appraisal. I did these things because I could, if it hurts to watch someone having a mental breakdown when you can see the good in their heart they were trying to share, it shouldn’t hurt to help. I did this because I hope one day when my little sister has a breakdown because of her disease, someone has the kind in their heart that my sister has in hers, and that this woman had in hers, and can reach out and help and understand instead of laughing or judging or standing by. Everyone is a person, no matter how small you may think they are- no one is small. We’re all people and we all deserve happiness.

remyreaper:

amysfall:

we need a universal hand signal for “my parents don’t know about that”

image

,,

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.

Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)

(Source: justsingyourlifeaway)

webmd:

let me sleep in ur stupid t-shirts and hold ur dumb hand u piece of shit