ray

and it is so hard being a whimsical little lover girl because I don’t. want. to. be. here. anymore. but if I die who will say hello to the butterflies and who will thank the trees and who will paint in my journal and who will be the friend everybody needs advice from and who will sleep beside my dog? my depression is brutal but my hope and my passion is the thing that destroys me everyday. in keeping me here it is torturing me. I hate it. I love it. I wish I could let go.

suffering in silence because the alternative is telling my friends that things are so so bad and having the response be “oh no. anyway how was your day”

my body is being mean to me again and I’m just really fucking tired. it’s been one thing after another since my mum was diagnosed with cancer and I just do not feel safe in life or in my body or in my house or in my brain anymore and I don’t know if I ever will.

hi love you say it back

kinda crazy that I wasn’t loved or supported enough as a child and now I’m going to have the always-panicking-and-shitting disease for the rest of my life. and because of that I probably will never be loved and supported because going outside and trying to be human triggers said disease. like haha I am in a prison of my body’s own making and the key was swallowed by my mother long before I knew how to unlock doors. anyway

I feel like my life would be at least 80% better if I had someone to tickle my back

speaking it into existence that i'm going to reread immune soon so i can go back to writing it because i know the next chap will be juicy but i feel too rusty to do it justice. in the meantime i am looking at my requests praise me!!!

tell me if you use c.ai so I can block you and thus gatekeep my beautiful human-made fics from you