#personal angst

I was reading a story about Bucky being an actor and he was in a or relationship with Yn. They’ve both fallen but her pushed her away in the last chapter I read. Now I can’t find it. I just went back through my comments, because I know I reblogged and commented on it but I can’t find it.

If anyone has an idea of what story this is, please let me know.

Please give me space to mourn my feelings.

Because.

Sometimes.

I can't feel anything. And the only way to feel alright is to pretend. That I do.

Even though it feels as though I'm trapped in someone's skin.

It feels weird. Knowing something's wrong but not feeling it yourself. Like in the back of your mind and slowly growing like mold... A rotting fruit in a gift basket. A cracked egg in a nest. A missing limb that you feel even though you know it's gone.

So strange.

I’m sorry that you have to see this so many times on my blog.

But today, I cried.

I cried, I got stressed, I pleaded, I got angry—so many things happened, so many emotions just because of a few videos.

And you know what? I’ll probably keep crying.

But…

I wanted to put this somewhere, give it to someone as a reminder for myself.

I have so much weight on my shoulders—I need to buy a new phone, find a home for my cat’s kittens, study, and attend my surfing classes.

Maybe, for someone else, it’s not that much, but for me, it’s too many things, and I can’t take it anymore.

To be honest… I don’t have many friends, neither real nor virtual. And the few I do have don’t even consider me a friend.

My best friend in real life is someone I envy. She’s someone people compare me to, and I compare myself to her all the time.

She’s perfect—she’s pretty, she draws really well, gets along with almost everyone, is kind, has many friends, and has the kind of family I’ve always wanted.

And I envy her for that.

Because she is loved.

And I’m not.

I hate myself for envying her, but there’s not much I can do—it’s a feeling I can’t get rid of.

And you know what? After watching so many videos and seeing so many things, I broke.

Today, I broke again.

And that’s okay.

After years of hating crying, I’ve come to accept it (at least in part).

I remembered things—I remembered old friends, old relationships, everything I’ve lived through.

I have hurt, and I have been hurt. I have been the victim, and I have been the abuser. I have lied, and I have been lied to.

So many things, so many feelings.

I recognized my mistakes. I recognized that, after all, I’m just a kid—an immature kid who is still trying to learn.

Yes, it sounds silly that I reflected on all this just because of some videos, but they reached me very deeply.

I like Scott Pilgrim, and when a video analyzing Ramona Flowers popped up, I didn’t hesitate to click on it.

And I felt identified—I cried through the whole video.

Because I understood Ramona Flowers in a way.

And I kept going—I saw myself in Sophie, I understood Howl, and the meaning of his story made me cry in the end.

And honestly… Look Back broke me.

It made me question so many things.

It made me reflect.

Why do I write? Why do I do what I do?

And then I understood.

I started writing to find something I liked, to feel comfortable.

A silly project between friends that never really went anywhere, but it was fun.

And when I started writing more and more, I loved it—I loved being able to express myself through words, to give comfort to others, to write about how I’d like to love and be loved.

Writing helped me.

But at the same time, it made me worse.

It became an obsession—I kept pushing myself harder and harder to become popular, to not be just another writer lost in the crowd.

And it’s still an obsession—a race against no one, just to feel better, to stand out in something I enjoyed.

I’ve never felt like I was enough when I write—I always think my ideas are silly, just another thing in the pile.

But…

When I saw the end of that movie, I asked myself again:

Why do I write? Why do I do this?

And the answer is:

I did it for myself—to express myself, to help those who can’t put their feelings into words.

That’s why I write.

I write because I love it, because I love the things I create, because I love seeing that, in some way, I can help an audience, even if it’s just a few people.

I learned that I love being empathetic, I love crying, and I love my creativity.

I love myself.

But at the same time, I hate myself.

And that?

That’s okay for me.

Because I finally understand myself a little more—I finally understand that kid who searched (and still searches) for a reality to escape into.

And I welcome him with open arms.

Maybe I’ll forget this soon or maybe I won’t.

But it really makes me feel better to accept myself a little more.

I feel proud of myself.

For today, I really feel like Tae, not like someone else.

Just like myself.

when u work whole night for some mere credits, and cuz u are in ur last year of university, u go harder... do the same almost each week.

and when frustration gets the better of you

you remember bts... and know that they didn't reach where they are today just cuz of looks.