Bell

Hi, I'm bella!! Most people just call me bell or Izzy.

She/they pronouns :)

I'm 18, MDNI I'm a super freak I don't need kids looking at my stuff LOL

Gambit and Rogues 3rd (totally)

Yeah I later found out I wasn't being asked this cuz I was a virgin, it's cuz everyone knew I was lesbian

Genuinely one of those nights where I sit and just hate myself.

I can't be a good friend nor partner right now, can't even be a good sibling for the most part.

I cleaned my room finally, but I don't feel any different.

Less cluttered maybe, but my thoughts won't change.

I wanna be better, I'm trying so fucking hard. But no matter what I've changed, I still feel the same.

I relapsed again today, not much. Not even that deep either, I feel like I deserve this.

I deserve to feel this way, constantly paranoid, feeling the urge to cut, feeling like the walls are always closing in on me.

Yet with all of this, I feel strangely numb. Like nothing even matters.

It makes me wonder if this is just it, y'know?

Gonna be 19 soon, but I also wonder if I'll even make it to my birthday.

Because at the rate I'm going, my future isn't looking bright at all.

I'm only staying for her. Thinking about her gets me through it all, even when we're too busy to shoot each other a text.

I wanna stay to learn the good and the "bad" things about her, I want her to know she's loved. And will always be loved especially by me even if anything happens.

She means the world to me.

But sometimes the worst thoughts get too loud, and I tend to forget what I have. And I lose my fucking mind.

Thanks to everyone who left me on read today fr!! True friends I must say!!! Mfs I've been friends with for years btw

I know nobody wants to talk to me anymore, I can feel it, am I gonna say anything? Nah, don't feel like it.

What I am gonna do is continue spiraling until I make myself hate everyone around me, all the way to a point where I ghost.

Why do I do this? I dunno. I never really understood it myself.

Do I think anyone's gonna give a shit? Not really, I'm not that important.

I'm tired of talking, about my emotions, feelings, what's "wrong" with me. No amount of reassurance is gonna make me feel like anybody likes having me around. Cuz I don't even like being around myself.

If I ever disappear on you without a trace, it's not something you did. It's always me, it's always because I got too in my head and didn't have the proper help for it.

Asking for help has never worked, telling people the truth hasn't worked either.

It gets to a point where I don't even care who I push away, and who gets hurt in the process. I spent years worrying about those around me, and never myself. This is the impact it had.

Sometimes I wish that attempt had worked.

I wish I wasn't still here, having to deal with being alone every night. Staring at the ceiling, almost rotting away completely.

Every time I try to get help, I'm told "my emotions are valid". That's not the response I need, I need you to understand something is severely wrong with me. I can never explain it, all I know is that it hurts.

I'm hurting. Bad. I need someone and I don't know who.

I feel as if I'm losing myself bit by bit and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I feel as if nobody around me truly gives a shit about me.

As if maybe if I had died that night, everyone would move on. Forget.

Because honestly, I was never that memorable.

Truly, since middle school I've wanted to kill myself.

I would self harm regularly, not to a scarring point. But I'm pretty sure I have brain damage from the way I would constantly hit my head on walls during breakdowns.

I'd scratch the shit out of myself till my arms burned.

But for a long time, I didn't go past that. Didn't cut.

I don't remember why I reached my breaking point.

I just remember finding the broken glass in the kitchen, and going through with it.

Spent the whole night feeling almost satisfied in a way, even though the stinging made me cry.

Showers hurt the most.

If I wasn't gentle enough, the scab would tear, making it deeper. Making me bleed more.

Making me want more.

So I kept going.

A couple a day, or more.

Every minor thing that upset me, cut.

Every time I spiraled, another one.

Constant cycle of bullshit.

Until eventually I couldn't do it anymore, and just let them heal.

For a while, I felt better about myself. Bold enough to wear short sleeves again.

My mom suddenly found them one day, on a hike.

And needless to say, it was the night I relapsed.

And almost took my life.

My only support system was acting like she hated me suddenly. I had nobody.

I think about that time often, how shitty I felt. How it was never fixed.

How much it's only affecting me now.

Truly, I don't believe I'm going to get better.

I feel like I'm only going to get worse.

He doesn't fuck you or anything, just offers gentle touches and kisses while he talks you through it. Telling you you're doing so good for him.

Once you're finished, he lays there with you. Holding you, whispering sweet words in your ear as you fall asleep in his arms.

The things you do to me.