Feels like the only space I have to write what I feel. That I haven’t stopped grieving, nor do I know how to. That my therapist is seriously ill and I swear to fuck... if she dies, I will accept that this life is meant to be lived in dread. That I lost a bunch of friends this year because racism and being an actual cunt bites super hard, and fuck anyone who can make a joke out of my existence but can’t take being called out for it. And you know what — fuck anyone who can’t handle being there when times get tough. That I told that bitch where to go. That I’m madly and truly in love and it’s the only thing keeping me full of life right now. That a two maybe three bedroom and two beautiful lil kittens are my future. And a backyard. And anything that isn’t a home full of pain and trauma and memories in a suburb that isn’t a suburb but more of a signpost on developmental stolen land. I’ve regressed back into the cocoon, and my head feels like the veil again. This grief is isolating, it pull you in and weaves a web around your thoughts and your vision so you can only see the world through flashes of your imagination. It’s not even grief for the one I lost, it’s for the the life I had before it all fell apart. To lose a key figure in your life is to lose a compass, an anchor. Now I’ve run out of excuses and all I have is this half beaten ego of mine and my inability to love myself wholly, and a man who just wants me to light the world on fire. Maybe I will. I’m not trying to seize a day or year or any fucking period of time anymore, if I can just be present in whatever space I find myself in... that’ll be the win. And fuck anyone who doesn’t wanna come along for the ride.
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
areudirty
yousharknotpass
izzy806
titsay
