I Hope You See This. You Mean So Much To Me, Thank You For Not Giving Up On Me.

I can always kill myself. That's the only comforting thought I have.

tonight the black hole where my heart is supposed to be feels as if it will eat me alive.

daniel once again reminds me that i am evil, literally his exact words tonight. what he doesn't know is that my buba is teaching me the power of belief and that i will brute force this into existence that i am good and kind and sweet and nice.

she and her books also say i need to forgive him, i don't know if i ever can.

just talk to me. for once. i just want to know what you’re thinking one last time.

i think my tumblr is scientific evidence for bpd mood swings

it hurts so bad that i am utterly speechless. nothing comes to mind when i try to write. no creative symbols, no metaphors, nothing. just raw pain.

why will i never be enough to be loved by you, father?

i’m processing some tough stuff, i might post excerpts from the journals i have from them,, idk what to do everything feels like static

had a dream where i texted michael and we just fought and fought lmfao. would happen if i reach out again fr

(1.30.23) - head hanging out the second story window, i let the strawberry smoke fill my lungs. i glance at my watch. 120. it hasn’t lowered all day. i tell myself that it’s just a bad day, that i’ll quit again tomorrow.

the pennsylvanian winter chill hits my face when the breeze blows. there’s a bird calling that i recognize but can’t quite place right now. texts from my only two friends lay unanswered because i don’t know how to tell them what i’m feeling.

i silently wonder if the devil ever feels cursed. if he too sometimes didn’t have the strength in him, because being rotten at the core is truly exhausting.

an ache of pain disturbs the thought. the all consuming anxiety follows. this semester feels as if it will kill me. learning to walk again while desperately trying to memorize an entire taxonomic language is just too much.

i try to glamorize it, to revel in the tasks the women in my books love. to tell myself that this is the life of a girl in the scribe quadrant, that dragons are real and true love exists.

my cat jumps up, she sticks her head out too and sniffs the breeze. she is the only solace my soul finds these days, her and the fluffy stories i fill my head with when i try to outrun these thoughts. the ones where i have a friend group who loves me like family and a man who sees the stars in my eyes. the stories where i am not seen as a monster, but as gentle and kind.

i want to die, to be quite honest. i am in the wrong reality. there is no found family waiting for me, nor a man to write me letters assuring me that i am nothing but angelic golden light. there is just fatherly pain and the weight of the world on my shoulders.