i can't trust anyone who calls themselves my friend. i never should have trusted confidence because it means nothing without respect or loyalty or reaching out to the ones you know are drowning in society and its expectations. i'll always be sorry for not being enough, but i'll never be sorry for being myself and growing every chance i get

there's no point in telling anybody anything that hurts because they'll just make it worse

i don't do anything right thank you so much for the reminder i love feeling worse than i already do i am a horrible daughter it is not the thought that counts and that will forever be my down fall everyday i want to make the selfish decision to never speak to anyone ever again and i can not go through with it no matter how hard i beg myself to because either way i will be in emotional and mental turmoil and i am the bigger person because that's what i've always had to be i always have to be some other thing and not the person i begged and beg god to make of me

growing up, you're not allowed to be angry because it's destructive and hurts the people around you. parents put you in your place. adults put you in your place. in some cases, the child grows silent. never speaking their mind if they can help it, but it's not enough. the child becomes an adult, but it's all the same. their reaction, anger or not, is wrong, and everyone else is justified

i trusted you to be my friend. an acceptance. an escapism. an equal. not my maid. not my teacher. not my critic. not a side to choose or regretful muse. not someone who looked at me and thought oh you poor thing. oh, you selfish little thing. oh, you itty-bitty ignorant lover of good things. i trusted you.

i thought i finally found a friend i could tell anything to, but i was wrong. i can't tell her anything that weighs me down ever again. she will turn it into her own pain. she will tell me she will help me. she will take what i love and twist it into her own depression. she will moan in self-righteous agony and look at me with a pitying longing. she will leave me helpless, speechless, alone when i ask her to be a friend. she will not fulfill her promises. she will cry because she just wanted to help. she will cross miles not to. she will fester with my wounds. speak to me in a voice that drips the sound of wisdom but projects the illusionary knowledge of a stranger. i will not call her to my abyss. she will make it her own. a home to drown us both in and wonder where her beloved friend left to

i want to be acknowledged so much rn i feel sick

crying in the grocery store parking lot because everyone feels like a threat, and my mind feels like a threat, and my shorts are suddenly too short, and i feel like i'm having an allergic reaction to being alive or outside, i want to go home, but at home doesn't feel good enough, nothing feels good, everything feels like it's too much/not enough, i feel like i want to throw up my emotions, but i can't and i don't want to throw up for real, nothing i think or say feels right, it all feels wrong, outside and inside, something isn't right, i feel crazy, and i feel like maybe i overestimated the limits of my mind today

melancholic. i wish i could speak with someone. pensive with my sadness. when it wasn't worth getting upset about. when it was soul-crushing.

can never be comfortable in this body. emotionally, physically, or mentally.

i haven’t had a pill in days, maybe it should stay that way, i’ll curl into a ball, they’ll find me with the a.c. on, a husk, a shell, something dead and unable to move on, they’ll say she died of agoraphobia in her own home, no one wanted her bitch face around, she couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t drive, what was the point of her even being alive?

the never-ending existential crisis that is (my) life

i can't do anything

i feel like my whole body is against me all of the time

all my life i never believed in myself well enough to accomplish my heart's desires, i ache knowing this is still true

okay, fine. nobody hates me, but i hate myself. can't be undone. i feel disgusting. i can't shed my skin. i can't shift into something else. i can't forget what's "wrong" with me. i can't undo the past. i can't fix my brain. i can't do anything worth doing to rip this feeling of self disgust out of me. i hurt myself over and over again because maybe this time it won't hurt, but it always does. i make myself worse, and then i get better, and then i die inside again anyway.