ChatGPT Is My Biggest Fan

This encapsulates everything I've ever felt, in my life. This hits so hard LOL

here is the light and the stool and the waterbottle so you can wring your hands and make a joke about your life like you are tumble-drying. here is the audience of your friends with their faces weirdly pinched just because you admitted that when you were growing up, bad things happened. when other people talk about their past, nobody flinches. when you mention the things you survived, everyone else gets uncomfortable, calls it trauma dumping. meanwhile to you it's just, like, something that happened.

you learn to sidestep it or to disguise it or to wait until it's dark out. you wait and hold the wasps nest and blink into the bright lights and then you make a joke about it. here is the joke: there is a hole in me that stays open no matter what i put into it. i have spent my life trying to make myself full and things just fall out.

and everyone loves a hole joke! how big is the hole? how wide? what does it swallow? once you disassociated with your turn signal on and it made your spiraling thoughts feel staccato, like rainfall. once when you were in the middle of a field you had the sudden thought - lightning could strike and wouldn't that just like, resolve it all?

clap your hands go to school go to work smile about it stuff yourself with this world because everyone says if you peel off the bad bits the new skin starts to show except it's been years and the uphill never stops being a slope. can you just lay down and be healed. you feel embarrassed to mention to your therapist that things are getting bad again, like you're wasting her time. like if you were really trying shouldn't you just be better. obviously you're not taking it seriously. you have to beg her to stay, worried that she will be one of the therapists that says this clearly isn't helping.

open your mouth and deliver a tight five minutes of comedy. make yourself beautiful and pleasing. you want to say im not ready but life doesn't wait for you to put your hands up so live under the boot. so never stick your tongue out hoping for snowflakes - more likely than not, god is gonna piss on you. good luck in the morning, you can't process the car crash because your whole life is an accident. nightmare kid; no matter how fast you run, you're still at the scene of the injury. elastic, you snap back to the broken rib. is this where you left your childhood? buried in somebody else's fingers.

get up on stage and do a little dance for us. get up on stage and try to language the loneliness never stops yawning but don't sound desperate or sad or yearning or wanting. sound brave and inspiring and dishonest about how badly you're hurting. call up foucault and laughingly promise that any time you talk about this you are adding disclaimers that of course peace is possible and you're so much better than you were before and the friction of your soul only sands down the sharp parts and never the tender spots and you're in therapy and you're a success story and you are neither a danger to yourself nor to others. either you are suffering just quietly enough or they lock you up. put your jazz hands up, make a spectacle out of yourself in glitter glue. you are someone's mental health month bulletin board & AI generated recovery chatbot.

you're too gentle to be a problem, but isn't that part of the difficulty. if you could just fucking talk about it. you have seen other people be helped and get what they need and be supported. something about you and the way you are - when you lose control, it's just not allowed, is the thing. it's embarrassing, not concerning. get back up on stage and finish your set. stop making us worry about it. the things that echo in you shouldn't be able to escape the bones in your head.

get back up on stage and perform like you're healthy, goddammit.

"If reincarnation is real I wonder how many people stare at their own art in museums, listen to their own music they made in a different life and read books they don't remember writing"

@themachomoron

I'm 18 and my dad has dementia

I'm 18 and I'm both the youngest and oldest I've ever been

I'm 18 and I want hug from you

I'm 18. Happy birthday to me. What a joyous world.

Me telling my friends not to tell him it was me. Not because I think he'd be weirded out. I don't care about what he thinks about me. But because, for once in a very long time, he seems happy. Happy that someone cares. Happy that he received something so miniscule, but he needed it. I don't know if he knows that it's me but, I like it when he's happy. His joy is infectious and I can still feel my heart swell when he's like that. It's no secret that I've always admired him. I would do anything in my power to ensure his happiness. Maybe it's fake, maybe it's real. But it's infectious regardless. I don't care about anything else. I just want him happy.

everyone says 'prioritize your health' 'look after yourself' until they realize that making your wellbeing your first priority means making everything else a lower priority. and yeah, that's sometimes ok if it's temporary, but if those health issues are chronic? oh boy do they not like it when you actually take their advice. sometimes prioritizing your health means neglecting your work, your household chores, your social life. 'looking after yourself' means not putting your energy into looking after everyone else first. and the same people who tell you to prioritize your health will get upset with you when they realize it means you're no longer priorizing them.

if you have disabled or chronically ill people in your life and you extend them sympathy and tell them to look after themselves when they're feeling sick, but then you get upset at then because they keep canceling plans. please. reevaluate.

or gf 😔