way personal tho

Life is surprisingly better now. I still get sad when I’m overwhelmed but I’ve found meaning and happiness. Maybe I’ll come back some day when life hurts too badly and nobody understands. But for now, I don’t have any thoughts gnawing to get out. I feel relief. I don’t know about the whole it gets better bullshit because I can still feel my depression clinging to my back, ready to pounce and take over at any time. 

I need to learn myself so when other people don't have time I'm not so alone.

every time i think i’ve gotten rid of you, you prove you’re still here. 

So you've gotten tired of me. Not the way the others did... but it doesn't matter. You'll just sit next to me in silence and eventually you won't be there at all. I've been preparing myself for this since we met so I'll be fine. You're already fine...

Do you ever feel your soul trying to escape your chest? It wants to leave but something's holding it back. When you want to die it's almost like you're seconds from cutting it free... getting rid of the ache

Maybe if everyone would stop expecting so much from me I could be happy.

Stop fucking asking me if I'm okay. Stop fucking prying. I'm doing my best to hold my feelings in so I can fucking exist for a few hours. The last thing I need is to break down in the middle of this place like I do when I'm alone. I'm fine... at least for now.

I've written at least a hundred things about you that will never be published. Just consider this post a memorial to my lost thoughts of you.

I relate so much to, like, all your post that it gets scary. I love your blog tho

If I had thicker skin maybe you wouldn't be so mean.

I wish I could be alone forever, but I'm afraid I'm stuck with myself.

I'll leave all my things behind and find meaning in the pieces of myself I hate the most I'll build a bridge with my stringy hair and paint the flowers the shade of yellow I wear on my teeth I'll warm the small, little animals with my round body and carry bird feed in the bags under my eyes I'll talk to the trees with my sharp and harsh voice and dig homes for the worms with my short and chubby hands. Oh, if only  I could leave all my things behind, I could find meaning in the pieces of myself I hate the most

I wish I cared about myself half as much as I care about what you think of me.

I don't mind being your second choice, but it'd be nice if I was your friend too.

I'm not blaming you, I'm telling you. You did this to me, no matter what you think.