Swimming Through Hell

I'm Taylyn, I'm 20, and I live in California. Welcome to my blog :D
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April 15, 2014 at 6:19pm
329,484 notes
Reblogged from yaypuppiesyay
corgisandboobs:

Are you ready for walkies? they ask.
"I was born ready for walkies.”

crisstyna-smiles THIS!

corgisandboobs:

Are you ready for walkies? they ask.

"I was born ready for walkies.”

crisstyna-smiles THIS!

(Source: yaypuppiesyay, via taywontheswan)

March 28, 2014 at 4:31pm
300,112 notes
Reblogged from upinlights
itsleightaylor:

forensic-dragons:

philliptunalunatique:

jaygh4stly:

omg i was going to reblog this anyway and then motherfucking kanye appears

omfg what

Kanye makes this whole thing perfect

holy shit

itsleightaylor:

forensic-dragons:

philliptunalunatique:

jaygh4stly:

omg i was going to reblog this anyway and then motherfucking kanye appears

omfg what

Kanye makes this whole thing perfect

holy shit

(Source: upinlights, via mikellaetchramblings)

3:47pm
374,277 notes
Reblogged from willoughbooby

(Source: willoughbooby, via crisstyna-smiles)

3:33pm
204,174 notes
Reblogged from 4gifs
wooden-toaster:

This is the most upsetting thing I’ve seen

wooden-toaster:

This is the most upsetting thing I’ve seen

(Source: ForGIFs.com, via toocooltobehipster)

March 24, 2014 at 9:29pm
14,876 notes
Reblogged from eastereggzakery

youngblacksamurai:

lilputa:

thebootygoon:

infamousnfamous:

white ppl namin they children brumbpo but wanna talk about “ghetto black girl names” lmao

why ol boy name a goddamn beat lmaoooooooo 

#this nigga name pronounce like the beginning of get low

I’m out

this nigga name pronounce like the beginning of get low

(Source: eastereggzakery, via uhmwillowsomething)

March 22, 2014 at 5:11pm
182,397 notes
Reblogged from tinderboyz

uhmwillowsomething:

nephrolithic:

I want this to be me.

This is me.

(Source: tinderboyz)

March 14, 2014 at 1:22pm
356,152 notes
Reblogged from panda-w0rld
chandeluresinsicily:

JACK BLACK IS LITERALLY LEADING AN ENTIRE ARMY OF PO COSTUMES HOW IS THIS PICTURE NOT ALL OVER TUMBLR

chandeluresinsicily:

JACK BLACK IS LITERALLY LEADING AN ENTIRE ARMY OF PO COSTUMES HOW IS THIS PICTURE NOT ALL OVER TUMBLR

(Source: panda-w0rld, via theopportunity)

February 25, 2014 at 3:10pm
116,230 notes
Reblogged from elferinge

When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

— 

r.d. (via vonmoire)

This is really important

(via tranarchistbitch)

(Source: elferinge, via theopportunity)

February 19, 2014 at 10:43pm
207,897 notes
Reblogged from christmeloni

puberty has done you well, tyreesha

(Source: christmeloni, via commie-cat)

February 9, 2014 at 3:52pm
432,122 notes
Reblogged from mechapuppy

ohyousillypotato:

what i’m looking for in a man:

  • will lend me his hoodies
  • good sense of humor
  • is a cutie patootie
  • will slay my enemies in a brutal display of violence and paint his face with their blood
  • good taste in music

(Source: mechapuppy, via salvia-plath)

February 4, 2014 at 4:28pm
22,685 notes
Reblogged from lora-mathis

I do all the things you used to hate. I dye my hair colors that make the church ladies stare. I go to bed without dinner and subside entirely on air. I make tea and pour cream in after. I give up reading. I give up The Beatles. I never eat another plate of scrambled eggs. I shape myself into someone you would dislike. My speech sharpens. My teeth turn to fangs. I let go of the softness that drew you to me. My fingernails itch to become claws and I don’t fight it. This is what it takes to survive. I let people into my bed that I would have walked right past with you. He is sad-eyed and needs my flimsy paper wrists to support him. I pour every late night with you into him, until he says, ‘I love you, I love you’ and I say, ‘Shh, you’ll ruin the fun.’ I do what it takes to forget you, and at the end, have more bruises than the ones I started with, but I can finally look at a sunset and not feel anything at all.

— I Practice Death To Forget You | Lora Mathis  (via soggypoetry)

(Source: lora-mathis, via salvia-plath)

February 3, 2014 at 1:51pm
356,274 notes
Reblogged from 4gifs
hannahvigiano:

cessadiaries:

moist-fondling:

themanicpixiedreamgrrrl:

Literally me when I hurt people

oh god oh god oh god im so sorry is it here did i hurt you here oh god im so sorry friend

HNNNNNNG

Literally cannot stop laughing!!!!

hannahvigiano:

cessadiaries:

moist-fondling:

themanicpixiedreamgrrrl:

Literally me when I hurt people

oh god oh god oh god im so sorry is it here did i hurt you here oh god im so sorry friend

HNNNNNNG

Literally cannot stop laughing!!!!

(via oharrohezza)

February 2, 2014 at 3:13pm
8,169 notes
Reblogged from epic-vines

(Source: epic-vines, via generaljox)

January 28, 2014 at 9:18pm
317,152 notes
Reblogged from dulect

(Source: dulect, via kevvekin)

6:19pm
144,038 notes
Reblogged from obeseblackguy
mikellaetchramblings:

bewbin:

wollipyos:


Some of the worst analogies written by high school students.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT NUMBER 4 IS GREAT.

These are genius

NINE THO. It actually makes sense. 

mikellaetchramblings:

bewbin:

wollipyos:

Some of the worst analogies written by high school students.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT NUMBER 4 IS GREAT.

These are genius

NINE THO. It actually makes sense. 

(Source: obeseblackguy)