Bpd Culture Is 'they Didn't Reply For 5 Hours So I Won't Reply For 5 Hours Either' And Then Messaging

this white guy in our neighborhood's HOA is trying to dissolve it because nearly all the members are indian including the president. but our neighborhood's 90% all indians so ... is it not accurate

i think about my mother and what she had to let go to take care of me. i think about the photo of her when she was young, her eyes bright and golden, maybe she passed them to another child in another world. i think about how she didn't grow up, i think about the pain she was inflicted with to prove herself of her womanhood, of the burden she earned when she had children. i think about being in her womb, warm and parasitic, sucking the life force out of her, making her losing all locks of her dark, long hair. i think about her drastic weight loss, i think about her face holes, i think about her sudden shift in mood and satisfaction. i think about how i was the end to my mother, how i brought death to her the moment i was born and months i laid in her womb. i think about her mother calling her every other day, wishing she could see her and embrace her. i think about the nights my mother misses my grandmother, and how i wish she didn't have to be with me instead. i think about my mother and it aches because no matter how hard i try, i can never be gentle with her. i think about how i hate her with so much fury, but never wipe her watering eyes when she wanders. i think about how i love her to the point a part of me breaks and shakes and dies, but i can't show it without shouting and screaming and yelling. i think about how my mother yearns to be hugged and embraced by her own mother, how i wish i could be that for her, how i want to coddle her and kiss her forehead and tell her everything will be alright. i think about how my mother has crossed oceans for me to sleep beside me on lonely nights, how her mother would cross the same oceans to wash her hair, how i can't even seem to reach out to her and hold her close. i think about my mother shampooing my hair, and how warm her hands are, how safe i feel so bare infront of another human being, how the love from the womb comes back.

this cruel envy fills me whenever i see that others are doing worse than me. i think it's a superiority complex or a messed up inferiority complex but there's this voice inside me that parrots "you must always be doing worse than them." everything feels like a competition for the worse because those who feel bad also get attention and i want that attention. i want people to care about me, i want to be sick so people can acknowledge that i'm sick and think about and talk about me like conversation topics so i feel special to them, no matter how terrible it is. i know it would be impossible to achieve this through good things like awards or competitions, so i'll get the attention in the one way i can: by suffering and making everyone aware of it. i'm not good enough that people will care so i'll be sick enough so they'll be forced to care

i feel so so so horrible

thinking about this

i'm so in love with the "legend" that your beauty marks / moles are where your lover liked to kiss you the most in your past life. like how beautiful is it that some pretty girl who loved me kissed me all over my back and neck and hands in some past life and i get to carry all of that love with me in this life ?? that is lovely to think about

meeee

the food in little forest (2018) looked so good. it looked good in a way that reminded me of home, in a way that made my heart warm. it was comforting to watch after a difficult day.

do you ever sit there in your bed with your head in your hands and it's like you can just imagine 9 swords behind you

favorite word to abuse is percieve