You Gave Up On Me Michael. A Naive Part Of Me Still Believes You’re A Short Drive Away, Because I Can’t

“you haven’t gotten past that yet?”

no. i don’t know how i will ever get over it mother. i wish that i could.

i wish you didn’t get distant and i didn’t turn mean.

i miss you every damn day.

This is the sacred duck he got an important message:

this study has me all sorts of fucked up. i feel super shitty for a lot of my behavior and my just entire being right now. i’ve always been told since i was younger that i was this unfeeling manipulative monster, what if it’s true? what if all the doctors are lying or just don’t know enough to tell me that i’m horrible? how i endanger people, act shitty, am just wholly the demon my father said i was?

how do you cope? how do you just move on from that self reflection that you possibly aren’t the way close people say you are? how do i know what is real? who to trust?

i need to talk to dez but i don’t even know what i would say-

it just keeps coming in waves. this soul-crushing feeling that i never can describe right. it hurts, it aches, it longs, it rolls but it’s sharp and stings. the great ambiguous birthday blues are settling into my bones for tonight.

sometimes i worry that people think i’m a furry for all of the dog imagery. it’s more about how bpd makes you feel subhuman, that it rots your brain and turns you into some wild animal. not that being a furry wouldn’t be dope as fuck, but that’s not me i’m just mentally ill and like symbolism.

“‘She loves me like a dog’ but not in the soft, blindly loyal puppy way. She loves like a stray, mangy and flea ridden, hiding in the back of an alleyway or under the porch of the abandoned house next door.

She loves violently and ferally and wildly protective because she knows how it feels to be alone during the winter and she can’t go back to that, she can’t.

She loves with teeth and claws because those are the only body parts that have ever saved her, and she mistakes every hug for a chokehold.

She loves in a way that looks an awful lot like violence and feels an awful lot like desperation.”

-some random guy on my tiktok fyp at 3pm on a sunday

Recently I went to one of my favorite museums of all times, the Muskegon Art Museum, and discovered this new bronze by UK artist, Beth Carter, Minotaur Reading. When people think of the myth of the Minotaur it’s almost always in context of his violence, his lust, his impossible body. Here all that is swept away with this monstrous form reading a small golden book. This made me crazy happy to see.

“The greatest loss is the kind that you never had in the first place. I am reeling from the missing out on something that was never mine to begin with. This tragedy cuts me deep.”

— remnant-thoughts