Eva > Recent Status Updates

— Niczego się nie nabawiłem. Chodzi o rzadką chorobę genetyczną, to wszystko.
— Tak, ale dlaczego ty?
— Dlaczego ja? Dlaczego nie ja? To wielka loteria wszechświata i tyle.

I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?

He seized, and thrust her from the room; and returned muttering—“I have no pity! I have no pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething; and I grind with greater energy in proportion to the increase of pain.”

Well, we must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering; and it ended when circumstances caused each to feel that the one’s interest was not the chief consideration in the other’s thoughts.

To me, all that urgent hopefulness was more frightening than if I’d found a pile of skulls with hair still attached.

I assumed everything bad in the world could happen, because everything bad in the world already did happen.

Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom.

I like checking days off a calendar - 151 days crossed and nothing truly horrible has happened. 152 and the world isn’t ruined. 153 and I haven’t destroyed anyone. 154 and no one really hates me. Sometimes I think I won’t ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand. Three more days to get through until I don’t have to worry about life anymore.

“You’re sexist. I’m so sick of liberal lefty men practicing sexual discrimination under the guise of protecting women against sexual discrimination.”

“Well, a little girl is more likely to trust a person who reminds her of her momma, right?”
Depends on what her momma’s like, I thought.

OM: I don’t believe in love/hate relationships. If it feels love/hate, then it’s not love. It’s probably not hate, either.
FEW: What is it?
OM: Fear.
FEW: I’m not afraid of her.
OM: You fear engulfment. She fears abandonment. It’s not love/hate so much as push/pull, and it’s very hard to stop once the cycle starts.

“Imagine my pussy just inches from your face,” Greta said. “What’re you going to do? Think fast.” 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

“I distrust people-pleasers. They seem phony to me, and dangerous.”

Бляяяяя ну сукааа ну кому в хорорі обісралась гг мері сью, і шо не можна було це раніше обозначити????????

No one talks in TikTok comments in real life🙄 also the author’s attempt to give the main character ‘cool girl attitude’ is annoying

Men are all the same, Mom once told us, but it’s the ones who try the hardest to convince you that they’re good that you really have to watch out for.

Turns out, I was right. But so often, being right means nothing but winning a round of a losing game.

Every time my family argued, my initial response was to fantasize about moving far away and never speaking to any of them again.

I don’t think she really cares if I’m fine. She just wants to tell me about her husband, and her house, and her plans. She wants to be validated, to feel good about herself. She wants to prove to me that her existence matters.

Sometimes I fixate on how disgusting humans are. I think about how we do things like litter and invent nuclear bombs. I think about racism, war, rape, child abuse, and climate change. I think about how gross people are. I think about public bathrooms, armpits, and about all of our dirty hands. I think about how infection and diseases are spread.

I am an animal, brought into existence without my consent, left scrounging to get by. I have my own problems.

I have this bizarre feeling like I was a different person at every other stage of my life. I feel so removed from myself then. Sometimes I feel like I was a different person a month ago. A day. Five minutes. Now.

Kindness hurts—really hurts in a terrible whole-body-aching kind of way.

The plot twists are just getting better

Sometimes we think—or like to think—that we know or understand people, but can we ever truly know one’s interior landscape? Can we ever comprehend all the drivers from a past life that have shaped someone?