The Last: Naruto the Movie Teaser Trailer Gif
Even Hashirama was throwing shade
Marvel in a Nutshell: Iron Man
Two other women, also breast cancer survivors, said their husbands left them after they were diagnosed. Both had to have mastectomies (in case anyone doesn’t know, this is the surgical operation to remove one or both breasts).
The first woman said her husband told her that he would rather see her dead than see her lose her breasts. The second woman had her operation and waited all day to be picked up by her husband, who never arrived. By nightfall, one of the nurses offered to give her a ride, and she came home to find the house empty.
Obviously, these are extreme cases of a man’s reaction to his wife’s breast cancer, but this is what I see when I see the “I ♥ Boobies” bracelets. I see love of the body parts, not the person being treated—not the patient, not the victim, not the survivor.
oh my god this is heartbreaking
It’s July and my existence has been sixteen years of saying sorry before I speak. I’ve spent too many summer nights staying up late talking to boys that were staying up for other girls. I leave without saying goodbye. I’m in the middle of four different books. I can’t finish things.
I leave the shower with shampoo in my hair. I leave my keys in the lock. I say thank you when people say I love you. When people like me, I want to ask them why.
I’m sixteen and I’m too young to be worrying that no one will fall in love with me. I’m sixteen and I’ve spent a year in recovery figuring out that I don’t actually want to die because turning into a ghost won’t solve all my problems.
I never wanted to die, I just wanted to escape. So I tightened my fists, toughened my skin, took a deep breath and went straight through the storm to the other side.
Flash forward two months, I’ll be seventeen. I will no longer apologize for existing. I’ll be seventeen and it’s about time I told you, I’m not sad anymore.
The thing they forget to tell you about storms is that even though you can’t see sunlight for miles, it’s still sunny somewhere else in the world.
|—||8:52 a.m. (An autobiography of 16 years)|
Bit of a wild man.