What Is Living?

The problem is, for once in my fucking life I want to be someone’s favorite person. I want them to want to spend all day texting me, calling me, sending me memes. I want them to be a little hurt when I can’t respond right away. I want them to wonder if I care just as much as they do. I want them to be obsessed. Sure, that might be toxic af, but for someone who has never been loved, chosen, or even liked. I just want to be the favorite for once. Why can’t someone care like I do? What is so fundamentally wrong with me?

I’m beginning to spiral again.

Time will not move faster, and it will not end.

Does it ever stop? Will this pain that eats away at my soul ever let up? Do I ever just get to exist without the crushing weight of life burying me? Does it ever actually end?

I need to put my phone down and go to sleep, but if I put my phone down I’ll just lie here awake with all the memories.

Sometimes I think I might be making up my mental illnesses, but then I find myself thinking about hiring someone to non-fatally stab me so I can have a break from everything for a tad bit, and that’s probably something a sane person doesn’t do. 

I hate that no matter how much I ⭐️ve my arms don’t get any smaller. They’re so fat and disgusting no matter what I do

Does it make me sick to imagine someone finally actually loving me, I imagine them brutally torturing the people that claimed to love me, but destroyed me. I imagine someone loving me so fiercely that they couldn’t stand knowing that the people that hurt me get to walk away fine. They torture them to the point they’re nothing, then they come to me, pull me into their embrace and tell me no one will ever hurt me again.