I Would Have Sent A Message But I Thought I Should Send An Ask. I Love Your Blog. I Love The Way You

Have I become addicted

to the sadness,

has it evolved into a hybrid

of apathy

of melancholy.

Will it stitch itself to my eyelids.

Will it clog up my narrow veins.

Is this the type of pain,

that drives my buried hope insane.

A Reminder to take care of yourself, drink some water, get some sleep and do something that makes you happy.

Okay so I'm not American and I don't live there but I still decided to download xiaohongshu (rednote). The only social media I actually use and post on is Tumblr but I wanted to have little nosey lol.

First of all it was really quite funny and heartwarming to see the interactions between the Americans and Chinese rednote users, there where so many Chinese internet slang cheat sheets and memes being exchanged and taught, like the American tiktok refugees where so ready to learn a whole new language so they could participate in meme culture and I love it, lmao not to mention how there's a Chinese saying where it basically means cute aggression, but for when they see a cute cat and when you translate it to English it reads as I want to lick your cat and that was definitely a bit of a funny misunderstanding lmao.

But overall I kinda love how petty the Americans from tiktok where, they literally said we are going to go straight to the supposed source. ngl not the finest moment when asked for help on English homework the answers given where wrong lmao, it's apparently being agreed upon that when asking for English homework help on rednote, it's best to ask a British user instead of an American one lol.

But it is nice to see people exchanging culture and joy even with a language barrier and the Chinese users where and are so welcoming.

I have covid. Lovely. I didn't get it during the pandemic but this is awful, I woke up at four am not being able to breath, ended up having a panic attack (fun) and now I have all the other symptoms, so yep. Fun stuff.

They say write what you know so I will. I want to tell the story of loss and hope. How quickly everything can fall apart , how you can be looking at misery and then suddenly living inside it. How hopes and dreams are a shield against dirty looks but they don't protect your cold hands or feet in the winter months.

I want to tell the story of the forgotten, the ignored. The people sitting against storefronts that are always asked to move move where?

I want to tell the story of the tired, the burdened. The children raising their siblings while their parents buy more scratch cards because maybe this time we'll win some money will they snap out of it then?

I want to tell the story of the desperate, the lost. The young person that left everything behind , that sits in cafes but never orders. That uses the free WiFi to check social media accounts of old friends, but can never bring themselves to do so, afraid that they realise they've been forgotten how much longer can I can they hide?

What story do you want to tell?

A Reminder to take care of yourself, drink some water, get some sleep and do something that makes you happy.

Let's be honest.

Let's be truthful.

When you meet your own eyes in the mirror

Can you recognise or a least reconsider

The apathy

That you let cling to thee

It's carefully downing you

It feels a secure embrace

But you're afloat

You've lost the boat, to passion, to joy, to meaning

It's calling out

ahoy

Where did you go

I see your eyes meet mine in the mirror

I see what once was starting to flicker

Are you but a ghost

A lost dream turning thinner.

I just awoke from a nightmare. Absolutely horrendous I tell you. There was a koala sized rat/tarantula hybrid and it kept running at me and clamping it's fangs into my hands. This being. This fiend just wouldn't let up, it was relentless, I have phantom pains in my hands. But To be fair it might have just been extremely pissed off and offended, because the moment it toppled out of a backpack, I gagged and held up a blanket like it was garlic and a cross.

I went to an all girls secondary school, I remember my mother telling my primary school teacher that there would be no boys to distract me there. That it was better and it's true that there where no boys, well no cis boys. But there where men. Men who walked up the stairs too slowly behind when you wore a skirt, men that leaned over you to correct math mistakes that didn't exist, men that made girls loudly spell out why when they needed to use the bathroom. Men that shouldn't have been anywhere near a school. There wasn't many boys to distract us, but there where men that betrayed us.

When I was little I was collecting all my future pains and putting them in a neat little line, each one climbing up the ladder of my spine. Because what is time, what does it matter when I could see the ending before I had even begun. It was like the Me that would live through broken glass and kicked in doors felt her heart beating so loudly she sent the sound back through time, and it found me in my room when everything was good. This organ we prescribe love to felt so much fear it ran back to a time before the palpitations.