after the fire

being sensitive is a fucking curse. i wish i didn't feel anything

im done asking for help for anything. i cant be vulnerable without being accused of being angry or mad or flying off the handle? okay, then i just fucking wont.

if i stopped replying to all of my friends right now, i'm not sure who would notice

jesus christ realizing nobody likes you for the real you, and just the watered down version, is so fucking humbling

going from loving being alive to wanting to throw up and get back in bed in the middle of the afternoon in a split second is a hell of a thing

i know it's because i'm bipolar and autistic, but it's wild how one phone call can take me from being happy and content and in love with life to crying on a mountainside realizing that i'll never really feel fully human

i don't understand why you would chastise me for being excited and misunderstanding what you wanted from me

i can't tell if i'm too much or not enough

sometimes it feels like i don't know how to have friends. why do i always do it wrong. why am i always wrong. i just want to be right for once. i just want to be good.

how am i supposed to want to help you with your crash outs from your mental illness when you won't even help you and take your psych meds

i am the least important person in everyone's lives. i am the last person on every priority list. i don't know how to love myself when it hurts so much to be unloved. i am never the first phone call. i am never the first text. sometimes i don't even get a response anymore.

they need to invent a grief that doesn't feel like taking your hands off the wheel at 70 mph and hoping for the best

nothing sexier than the combination of top surgery scars and lacey underwear

i need someone to fuck me like we're rolling in bjj

ok but what if i sold newds/lewds to fund top surgery

one day you're going to destroy your own life and after you've treated me? i am going to be happy to watch it go down