anyone else up late and insane over all the things we can't talk about
yeah. yes. right now. extremely relatable
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@qinhara
anyone else up late and insane over all the things we can't talk about
yeah. yes. right now. extremely relatable

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things that make me sad in life #13665447543643:
why is it so hard to find shoes, especially pretty shoes, in narrow sizes
at times when hope is too big of a thing to have, curiosity (even clinical or small) is a very good placeholder
asking myself "why continue" & finding the answer is always, in some form, "i want to know what happens next", even if that want is tired or detached or outright morbid
yeah. i canāt let go of that curiosity either. but itās more like a *need to know* that is urgent and desperate ā a need to be so very myself ā or some sense of self at all ā in the world, even though my sense of āselfā is always so ruptured too. but to not have that inferiority? to not *think* or *know*? itās unbearable. i want various people to finally give a shit, but i have to be around to know it.
it doesnāt feel like a very good reason to live, and yet here we are
they should invent a my brain that isnt. so scared
so relatable, and yet⦠if my brain wasnāt so scared would i also be able to inhabit the liminal spaces quite so viscerally? to be afraid is to fall into the in-between again and again, to keep trying to make it all fit and make sense, and to have to keep sitting in the mess, in the dialectical impossibility of it all
i guess thatās why, despite everything, i wouldnāt actually trade my ocd
idk. itās exhausting and i donāt want to be so scared all the time, too
i feel so alone so alone so alone. iām never going to meet someone who knows me like z, who *could* know me like z, so whatās the point anyway
i canāt stand it, this slow dissolution of you and me
please donāt dwindle away. please remember hope

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i wish i had more friends, especially close by
especially people who i could just be my crazy self with
i also wish i had lovers ā
itās so exhausting still being like this
i am so sick of the constant āi have clear boundaries and communicate greatā and other healthy relationship bullshit (and tenderqueer bullshit) that people put on their dating profiles. i mean i could make a very long list. but itās just exhausting. i mean⦠people⦠youāre just not as ~self-actualized~ as you project, and thatās actually ok?! i would rather have the real, messy you anyway
(and i wish youād rather have the real, messy me)
is anyone else just like. constantly filled with rage about their position under late capitalism and how we are expected to just keep playing this game that we know will literally kill us, is already killing people all over the world, and yet everyone around us is somehow fine with going about business as usual, with pretending we are free by being able to choose between different ways of being exploited. there is nothing more dehumanising than being forced to partake in a system that is actively detrimental to our survival as human beings, that is so physically, psychologically and spiritually destructive, and i donāt know how to deal with this anger anymore
yeah. i think itās just an endless sense of grief / devastation / disillusionment. rage just simmering & also submerged.
iāve known about the horrors of capitalism all my life. i was raised by marxists. but of course the shelter of privilege. still, i think i thought that somehow i could be beautiful and brilliant and create and dream and hope anyway. i was encouraged to, still am encouraged to. but at some point, whatās left? depression and fatigue and despair and overwhelm and dissociation seem like the only realities.
i often feel like i just donāt really know how to connect / make (and especially sustain) friends anymore. i mean iāve always struggled with this. but the way things have been for so long now? iām in such a hole & itās so mundane how thereās no way out. nothing so exciting and grand. just no way out.
no way to ever be beautiful or good enough
When Georges Bataille said, "no greater desire exists than a wounded person's need for another wound," and Oscar Wilde said, "a burnt child loves the fire," and Margaret Atwood said, "you long to be bandaged before you have been cut."
yes!
āThe body is both the persistent site of self-recognition and the thing that always betrays us. It dreams of redemption but it knows better than that too. It loves and dreads the encounters that make it. It latches onto a borrowed intimacy or a plan of some sort. Layers of invented life form around the bodyās dreamy surges like tendons or fat.ā
ā Kathleen Stewart, Ordinary Affects

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sometimes i miss t. like iām submerged & sometimes i donāt know whether i miss them or the feeling of being human more often.
i donāt think they miss me at all
iāve spent so much time just trying not to be too much, closing myself off from so much of the world / people / everything. just stuck in my misery, which is so much zās misery, only being the bright sticker queen as escape.
to come into contact again always sets me inescapably limerent again. i donāt really know how to solve this, i am trying not to have to, but then againā¦
oh,
so here i am again.
like i wrote in a sort of poem recently, i don't want to be so deferred