Allie Brosh Quotes

I stock up on fancy food because I'm also planning on morphing into a master chef and actually cooking instead of just eating nachos for dinner every night.

When the soul-penetrating pathos she was beaming at me failed to prevent me from continuing to put things in boxes, the helper dog became increasingly alarmed. Over the ensuing few days, she slowly descended into psychological chaos. The simple dog remained unfazed.

However, I could no longer rely on genuine emotion to generate facial expressions, and when you have to spend every social interaction consciously manipulating your face into shapes that are only approximately the right ones, alienating people is inevitable.

I have a subconscious list of rules for how reality should work. I did not develop these rules on purpose, and most of them don't make sense – which is disturbing when you consider that they are an attempt to govern the behavior of reality – but they exist, and they play a large role in determining how I react to the things that happen to me. Large enough that a majority of the feelings I feel are simply a reaction to reality not complying with my arbitrary set of rules. Reality doesn't give a shit about my rules, and this upsets me.

Most people can motivate themselves to do things simply by knowing that those things need to be done. But not me. For me, motivation is this horrible, scary game where I try to make myself do something while I actively avoid doing it. If I win, I have to do something I don't want to do. And if I lose, I'm one step closer to ruining my entire life. And I never know whether I'm going to win or lose until the last second.

I prepare for my new life as an adult like some people prepare for the apocalypse. The first day or two of my plans usually goes okay.

And that's the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn't always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn't even something - it's nothing. And you can't combat nothing.

Unfortunately, the source of my shittiness is the fact that I'm shitty. I just am. It is not possible for me to not be that way. I can prevent myself from being actively shitty. I can do things that a not-shitty person would do. But the shittiness is always going to be there, just beneath the surface, straining to get out.

You don't have to be a good person to feel like a good person, though. There's a loophole I found where I don't do good, helpful things, but I keep myself in a perpetual state of thinking I might.

Procrastination has become a it's own solution - a tool I can use to push myself so close to disaster that I become terrified and flee towards success.

I don't just want to do the right thing. I want to WANT to do the right thing.

Then the guilt from my ignored responsibilities grows so large that merely carrying it around with me feels like a huge responsibility. It takes up a sizable portion of my capacity, leaving me almost completely useless for anything other than consuming nachos and surfing the Internet like an attention-deficient squirrel on PCP.

The thing about being an unstoppable force is that you can really only enjoy the experience of being one when you have something to bash yourself against. You need to have things trying to stop you so that you can get a better sense of how fast you are going as you smash through them. And whenever I was inside the dinosaur costume, that is the only thing I wanted to do.

No one could tell me not to eat an entire cake - not my mom, not Santa, not God - no one. It was my cake and everyone else could go fuck themselves.

Not giving a fuck and not being able to give a fuck.

It's so somewhat effective that I now rely on it almost exclusively when I need to get myself to do something

But, against all odds, my gigantic ego continues to attempt greatness.

Be an unsinkable ship.' Basically, making yourself seaworthy is easier than trying to control the sea.

The beginning of my depression had been nothing but feelings, so the emotional deadening that followed was a welcome relief. I had always viewed feelings as a weakness-annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore.

It's disappointing to feel sad for no reason. Sadness can be almost pleasantly indulgent when you have a way to justify it.

I had always viewed feelings as a weakness - annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself.

You aren't allowed to decide because you are really bad at making decisions.

motivation is this horrible, scary game where I try to make myself do something while I actively avoid doing it. If I win, I have to do something I don't want to do. If I lose, I'm one step closer to ruining my entire life.

When I encounter someone I haven't seen in a while, I have never once thought, I should jump at them and poke their face with my fingers and keep doing that until someone locks me in the bathroom. Because that's insane. What would you think if I did that to your dog friends?

We're going to play a different game now. It's called "who can yell 'help' the loudest and the most.

The longer I procrastinate on returning phone calls and emails, the more guilty I feel about it. The guilt I feel causes me to avoid the issue further, which only leads to more guilt and more procrastination. It gets to the point where I don't email someone for fear of reminding them that they emailed me and thus giving them a reason to be disappointed in me.

Dear other iterations of my past self, Thank you for not being so goddamn weird that I felt I had to address you personally in a letter from the future. I commend you.

For a little while, I actually feel grown-up and responsible. I strut around with my head held high, looking the other responsible people in the eye with that knowing glance that says, I understand. I'm responsible now too. Just look at my groceries.

I am incensed that reality has the audacity to do some of the things it does when I CLEARLY don't want those things to happen.

Being a good person is a very important part of my identity, but being a genuinely good person is time-consuming and complicated.

But as I grew older, it became harder and harder to access that expansive imaginary space that made my toys fun. I remember looking at them and feeling sort of frustrated and confused that things weren't the same.

What I am is constantly thrust into my face while I'm trying to be better than I am. Even if I'm actively doing all the right things, I can't escape the fact that my internal reactions are those of a fundamentally horrible person.

My mom quickly tired of having to hold the cake out of my reach. She tried to hide the cake, but I found it almost immediately. She tried putting the cake on top of the refrigerator, but my freakish climbing abilities soon proved it to be an unsatisfactory solution.

I've gotten pretty good at making myself feel ashamed. I can even use shame in a theoretical sense to make myself do the right thing BEFORE I do the wrong thing.

She knew that if I was allowed even a tiny amount of sugar, not only would I become intensely hyperactive, but the entire scope of my existence would funnel down to the singular goal of obtaining and ingesting more sugar. My need for sugar would become so massive

When I say that deciding to not kill myself was the worst part, I should clarify that I don't mean it in a retrospective sense. From where I am now, it seems like a solid enough decision. But at the time, it felt like I had been dragging myself through the most miserable, endless wasteland, and - far in the distance - I had seen the promising glimmer of a slightly less miserable wasteland.

-to me, the future doesn't seem real. It's just this magical place where I can put my responsibilities so that I don't have to be scared while hurtling toward failure at right hundred miles per hour.

I suspect that, left to my own devices, I would completely lose control of my life.

I had spent my last feeling being disappointed that I couldn't rent Jumanji. (...) And thus began a tiny rebelion.

It's a strange moment when you realize that you don't want to be alive anymore.

But when you're concerned that the miserable, boring wasteland in front of you might stretch all the way into forever, not knowing feels strangely hope-like.

When you start figuring out how full of shit you are, it's like opening a tunnel to all the lies you've ever told yourself. The tunnel is really deep and scary, but you're suspicious about it and you want to see what's down there.

And that's how I got to go to a birthday party while very heavily sedated.

Packing all of your belongings into a U-Haul and then transporting them across several states is nearly as stressful and futile as trying to run away from lava in swim fins.

Тo me, the future doesn't seem real. It's just this magical place where I can put my responsibilities so that I don't have to be scared while hurtling toward failure at eight hundred miles per hour.

One of the most terrifying things that has ever happened to me was watching myself over and over again
thirty-five days in a row
not to return a movie I had rented. Every day, I saw it sitting there on the arm of my couch. And every day, I thought, "I should really do something about that ... " and then I just didn't.

YOU R sO bRUEtifUL...
how R U so BRUTEfUL and good?

Cake is the only thing that matters.

I cope with it the best way I know - by being completely unreasonable and trying to force everything else in the world to obey me and do all the nonsensical things I want.

It wasn't a particularly brilliant plan. In fact, one could argue that nothing about it made sense at all. And we knew it wouldn't end well. We knew we wouldn't be able to escape once we were found. But we weren't driven by logic. We were driven by something deeper - some desperate part of us that maybe just wanted to see exactly how obnoxious we could be.

I don't like when I can't control what reality is doing. Which is unfortunate because reality works independently of the things I want, and I have only a limited number of ways to influence it, none of which are guaranteed to work. I still want to keep tabs on reality, though. Just in case it tries to do anything sneaky. It makes me feel like I'm contributing. The illusion of control makes the helplessness seem more palatable. And when that illusion is taken away, I panic.

On a fundamental level, I am someone who would throw sand at children.

Because, deep down, I know how pointless and helpless I am, and it scares me. I am an animal trapped in a horrifying, lawless environment, and I have no idea what it's going to do to me. It just DOES it to me.

The shelter worker said, "This one hates everything and she doesn't know anything, and I hope you aren't planning on taking her outside ever because she's more like a bear than a dog, really, and unfortunately, she can scale a seven-foot-tall fence like the fucking Spider-Man." And we were like, "Sure, why not.

If you were sitting quietly on your couch, waiting for your girlfriend to come back inside so you could finish watching your movie, and while you were waiting, someone called you up and said "I'll give you a million dollars if you can guess what's going to happen next," you absolutely would not guess "I am going to be brutally and unexpectedly attacked by a goose in my own home." Even if you had a hundred guesses, you would not guess that.

You lazy, floor banana motherf*****

I couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to hate myself anymore.

At first, I'd try to explain that it's not really negativity or sadness anymore, it's more just this detached, meaningless fog where you can't feel anything about anything - even the things you love, even fun things - and you're horribly bored and lonely, but since you've lost your ability to connect with any of the things that would normally make you feel less bored and lonely, you're stuck in the boring, lonely, meaningless void without anything to distract you from how boring, lonely, and meaningless it is.

Trimming your dogs nails is a traumatic event that requires three people, a beach towel, and a can of spray cheese.