Malade

Are all people really born equal? Really? Are you supposed to grow up and learn to be happy? Is the ability to be happy something you’re born with and you just need to learn to use it or some shit? So is it my fault? Is that it? Did I do something wrong? If all people are made equal than I wasn’t born incapable of being happy. I’m not incapable of being loved. I just can’t be. And it’s my fault right? I keep thinking that I can be happy. That I can love someone and they can love me. But it’s my fault that I can’t have that right?

Every new year always ends the same.

“You need to love yourself”

An open letter <3 i feel like I don’t exist when I’m alone. I just need to know if I still exist. I love you so much and I’m going to keep loving you, scratching outside your door like a desperate stray dog, sitting here like a fucking idiot asking myself what I did wrong, waiting for you to tell me to fuck off. I don’t want an apology, I just want you to tell me to leave you alone. Cause until you give the order I’m still your dog. I’m gonna keep sitting on the curb, not because I want to anymore but because I need to know if I still have a home. I need to know if I should change my wallpapers, delete the pictures of us together, if I should keep holding on to somthing that’s not there. Something that I haven’t seen in weeks, I’ve just been deluding myself, literally going crazy for you. And I’m not trying to guilt you or anything I’m genuinely just telling you how I feel.

Maybe I was born not to love. Maybe I was born unloveable. Maybe love is taught. Maybe it’s something you need to experience. You need to be shown proof that it exists before you can experience it yourself. But it’s not enough to just see it, you need to believe it. I’ve never felt loved. I’ve never believed I was loved. I don’t think I’ve ever loved. I’ve obsessed, yearned and idolised. Begged like a dog for a bone that’ll never feel real.

Your fp not responding to you kinda feels like a dog being put outside. It’s cold but you know they’ll open the door to let you back in the house eventually, they just need time to themselves for awhile. Then days go by and you wonder if they even rember that you’re outside. Then weeks, it starts to rain but you keep sitting at the door, ready to wag your tail and smile when you hear footsteps. Each text you send feels like a scratch on the door as you beg to be let in. You don’t know when they’re coming back and when they do you don’t want them to have to deal with all the scratches. it’s eerily quiet.

I came across one of those “your month, your curse” TikToks and i-