i am not my mother and i am not my father but a third worse thing

their daughter

My era rn is uncategorizable. The the way I am living is unheard of

you ever just have someone fundamentally misunderstand you and who you are and suddenly you’re 15 again going “please look at me and see me. please hear these jigsaw puzzle piece words that I’m desperately trying to fit together so I can show you the picture and know what I mean. please see me and know me and understand me.” and it’s like, wow, it’s still so easy to fall apart when someone you thought got you, shows you what they actually think. and it’s so easy to feel unlovable, worse, unlikable when you think “oh shit, what if they’re right and I don’t know me.”

I'll be free when I die. I have had enough with being me

god. it’s just. it’s dreams by the cranberries. it’s the montage of them all voting yes. it’s orla’s little smiley face in the box. it’s the live footage of the troubles. it’s erin’s speech. it’s the way that the last shot is of grandpa joe and anna jumping together out of the voting hall. it’s the sheer symbolism of youth and age being joyful and hopeful together. god.

it’s never too late. for anything: to apologize, to chase a dream, to try again, to forgive, to pick up a hobby, to fall in love, to change. you can do it whenever you want