𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Pea Soupy Fog on St. Patrick's Day. 6:50 to 7:05 am. 51° F, with light rain. March 17, 2025. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT (@dkct25)

Im just always wrong

Everytime i try to do anything, help someone help myself, love… im wrong. I feel as if i will never get this life thing right. Im careless and i hate that about myself. I make so many mistake i question if i myself am one. Im scared i wont every get this right.

Ive criticised of everything that i do to the point where i even question waking up. What if im not doing it correctly. The dread i feel forcing myself out of bed because i know that during my day i will yelled at for doing something, anything. Criticised for trying again. I hate this all. I completely, whole heartedly hate it all. There is somehow always a problem with me. I cannot take it

If i were to ever take my life it is because i don’t think I’m doing it right. Something about me is terribly off, my death is a mere correction a flaw.

I know I’m being far too critical with myself but i cannot help it, I’ve been judged for everything i have tried. Knowing that i am certainly a failure why should i aspire to be more. Of course, i still have a dream, a desire to heal and love others but i fear that when i try to climb up ill fall at the worst time. A fall so high there would be maroon gore splattered everywhere, i might even knock off the person that climbs underneath me.

Killing us both.

Maybe this is my best

i hate what you have made me into

resentment is filled within me to the brim. i was born into a family that hates themselves, now i am expected to bare the burden of healing or else all my pain means nothing. or else i will become my parents in my own childrens lives.

i hate that i was never given the opportunity to be unharmed, i wish my story wasnt so hard on my fragile soul, i wish i had no substance or empathy, i wish i was simple...

uncomplicated and obvious.

Wish I was a boy

Why it will never be me

I think one of the hardest relisations is that i will never be anyones favourite. Ive learned to let go of all of my crushes simply because they will always be overwooed by the next girl. It isnt even a case of me being hideous but rather how odd i am. I dont listen to their music, i dont have a alcohol problem ( halfjoke :/) and am more of a “soul crushing devotion” person.

Media is always teaching us to be ourselves and to be authentic but the moment one embodies themselves it falls into categories of pick mes or flat out annoying. Its just awful.

I wish i could be likeable and relatable but everything i do is labeled as weird… i would rather be uninteresting.

Once again I feel like the world is craving in on me. The memory of someone that passed haunts me. What could I have done to make his short life more pleasing, he died feeling distaste for me, how pathetic I am for being with one of his friends.

And what makes this even sadder is that I’ve made my grief all about me. It’s like this disgusting self centred attitude makes path to my selfishness. It scares me.

That gets me thinking about my approaching death. Death - the birth of my end. A begining to an end.

I have romantised my death so much so that I fantasise about it at times. It comforts me that one day all of this noise and music will stop. That i will be forgotten and i will not even remember that.

But i am impatient for this destiny to forth, i want it now. If i were to complete my final act and have my beauty froze. To shorten this life i know i have lived enough.

I am certain of this death and often anticipate my end. Surviving everyday has become so tiring.

Lord if u be, grant me this wish.

End me.

Im tired

And scared

(Typos ik)

I feel, so tired.

Ive always thought that j was content with my socail circle. Ive a lot of acquaintances and everyone knows my name. Adults consider me charming and im more than often invited out.

Still i have no one.

Say prehaps a book that is covered in emerald green flowers lays ahead of you. Its pages bent and the spine of it ceased. This book has been pages through a few times but its beauty is retained. You would look at this book and understand that it is not a quick read merely by its thickness. Tis only when you open the book would you realise that its writting is miniature, almost requiring a magnifying glass.

Although this novel is garenteed to interest and change your life, the minor inconveniences make you flee. Leaving the book to be engulfed by ratchet vines that suffocate it.

To make the outside of the book would be the solution to making this novel more captivating. This belief in itself opposes the notion that media presents.

I am not good enough… for i can be better, as toxic as it is, it seems to be a solution nonetheless

Sea cave