pear of anguish

im still sitting on my couch..

crying every five minutes..

what the fuck..

how you can be alive,

living, breathing, consuming, exerting energy,

and still feel as dead as fuck.

and i did all my own stunts, too.

never got paid.

attempt failed.

almost 6, but not quite.

im going to attempt to sleep now, which means i’ll wake somewhere around noon. hopefully.

i guess all it took was a pipe and some weed.

i fucking hate this bed.

i miss being alive.

5 hours from yesterday

19 until tomorrow.

will this day ever end?

i might have to sleep for that one.

this is therapeutic, i like this.

i know no one’s actually reading this. and frankly i don’t care if they do. i’ve been writing down my life for… well, my whole life.

i used to think this site was stupid. a confusing pinterest/twitter landscape. Pintwitterest.

she could’ve been so much worse, which is why i feel so guilty saying what i do about her. every time i say, oh yeah no my mother was actually heavily abusive, i picture her smiling and being motherly, in her long white skirt, with her right eyebrow that sits higher than her left, and her nose that’s a much more intense version of mine. i picture her sitting on my grandmothers balcony, her box-dyed blond hair whipping around in the wind. her smile, back when she had her own teeth. her grey eyes, that know how to pierce and soothe with the same sharp edge. i picture her making plates of snacks for me and my siblings, the rare occasions we were all together. i picture the mother who made sure we believed in Santa, and the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. My mother. the one who kept my baby teeth, and every braid from every haircut.

how can i hate my mother when she holds all that i was close to her heart?

how can i tell people my mother is a bad woman when i know she can be good?

and i have no one to talk to anymore.

which is bullshit. every time i feel like i have no one, i have to stop and remember. i do have people i could talk to.

but it’s easier to just say i have no one to talk to, than keep up the energy to text to people.

well, actually, it’s easier to write it on here. i don’t even have anyone to say it to.

i don’t deserve friends. i’m a shitty friend.

i can’t even count all the reasons i’ve made people not like me. i’m so fucked, i even made my own mother hate me. how about that.

lovely thoughts we get up to in the early hours of the morning.

the only reason i’m awake was so i could wish my ex/not ex a happy birthday. i told him id make it to his birthday, and then we stopped talking. and there i was, september 19th, staying up until midnight so i could say it right as it turned to the 20th. he said thank you. two hours later he messaged me saying he misses me. and that he stopped taking his meds.

she wild on my fire until i destroy the surrounding area

she amber on my alert until i go missing

she flash on my flood until i literally drown

she category 4 on my hurricane until i torrential downpour

she trespass on my property until i have to file a restraining order

if there’s no sun, no light to spare

can what is meant to be living still exist without what makes it alive?