Showering With Open Cuts Hurt Like Hell

Easter: Rambling #7

17th April 2022, 15:29

Easter is definitely one of my least hated celebrations. That goes alongside Halloween. I don’t like Valentine’s Day, Christmas, or New Year. I think that is because they’re all about love and family, and I barely have those two things. There are two points, however, that I dislike about Easter. The first is all the chocolate. I have difficulties with my eating. I want to be the thinnest in my friend group. I want to look unwell, pale, and bony. Sometimes I don’t eat to try and achieve this. As of now, I am the thinnest in my group and my family. This feels like a great achievement. Secondly, I don’t like all the middle class things I have to see being broadcasted across media. I hate the little Easter caricatures, or the community Easter egg hunts. It makes me feel sick. How dare these people enjoy life when there are others out there, including me, who can barely walk five steps without feeling like I’m about to be swallowed into purgatory? My mum didn’t do much for Easter this year. Usually she would hide chocolate eggs for me or make me a treasure hunt. I instinctively started looking around when I came downstairs. Of course, there was nothing there. I was disappointed, but I couldn’t blame her. She’s depressed and suicidal at the moment. On the one hand, I love her and I wish I could help her more. On the other hand, I still feel betrayed over the fact that she didn’t defend me when I was being abused. I was completely alone, isolated, and she allowed it to happen. That’s something I will never forgive, no matter how wonderful of a mother she has been to me and all the things she has helped me with over the years. Easter also reminds me of the disappointment I felt as a child. My sister and I were so excited. We waited upstairs for hours, waiting to be told we could come down and see what Easter Bunny had left for us. We waited so long that we had to call down and ask if we could come down. They said yes. We ran downstairs and were met with nothing. Nada. Zilch. The sadness was immeasurable. My father was surrounded by beer bottles. He told us to take the dog (who is now dead and sadly missed) for a walk. We obeyed. When we came home, there was chocolate for us. Of course, I knew what had happened, but I didn’t want to believe it. I acknowledge it now as an adult. My mother had bought the chocolate and left my dad to hide them around the house and garden. My father, instead, got drunk and fell asleep. I feel bad for the effort my mother put in. This happened two years in a row. They divorced not long after that. Not because of Easter, just because my father was an abusive piece of shit. I didn’t deserve what happened to me. My sister didn’t deserve what happened to her (I will stand by that, despite the fact that my sister was incredibly abusive towards me). My mum deserved to be happy, and now look at her. She’s so depressed that Easter has reverted back to my childhood. What a shame.

~ 化け猫 (Bakeneko)

I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you. I'm so obsessed with you.

                                                                                            Yet                        I still want some kind of contact. Yet I am the one who can’t let go                                             —into complete silence,                        which seems so unthinkable. What keeps me?                        Is it devotion or addiction? Is it the need for                        intimacy, or the proof that I can survive                        some kind of violence?

— Yanyi, from “Affirmation,” Dream of the Divided Field

• if I stay cold enough, I won’t want to get up and follow things around

• if I only use the same websites/watch the same shows/don’t answer unknown calls, I don’t get paranoid.

• if I don’t make friends, I won’t stay up all night wondering about what they’re plotting against me.

• if I stay inside, nobody will be watching me.

• if I don’t speak or think, no one can hear me.

I'm so fucking sad it hurts. I honestly don't remember the last time I truly ever felt happy even as a small child. I remember feeling depressed but not knowing what that was. I felt such satisfaction from traumatic things, inflicting pain and violence, self torture and hatred. I don't know if I truly deserve to be happy I don't know what to do.

when is someone going to confess that they’re obsessed with me

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY ITCHY

Minor inconvenience:

Me: how about i end up in the fucking hospital how about that