I think about you, almost everyday. I dont know if you still read this. But know that I miss you, almost all the time. I think I am insane for that.

if i look back, i am lost
h
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@woormwood
I think about you, almost everyday. I dont know if you still read this. But know that I miss you, almost all the time. I think I am insane for that.

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I can highly relate to Dennis in always sunny during that episode where they meet a psychologist and Dennis has like stacks and stacks of info about his friends that he’s collected over the years, analyzing their behavior and etc.
human behavior interests me and tbh there are certain people whose behavior intrigued me the most, these people usually have huge red flags in the personality disorder department.
sometimes I take things too far in order to understand the psychological behavior of others.
But, regardless, I understand, and not only do I accept but I’ve learn to love and value these flaws in people.
They are the rawest form of character. They are genuine to their nature. That is why their truth terrifies most people who discover it. Their truth is sealed and locked within a vessel called a body and internally it boils and blisters beneath their skin. They live their lives battling the person they are with the person society tells them they should be. They become tormented trying to keep all that boils and blisters within them.
Monsters begin to form within their chest. Demons begin to live within their soul. The mind is a sanctuary for a madman.
Imagine if they met someone willing to transfer their pain through the spirit of confiding
But how strange would it be for someone you hardly know, to ask to share your burdens, your truths, just so you can live with less indifference, less pain
Many don’t believe confidants like this exist
But they do
They are the purest form of love. Unconditional, filled with mercy and sacrifice.
Any way, I’m dating someone. I have been for the past two months. I never make these things public because I love for my best moments to be private. He’s beautiful. He draws for me and sings me songs. We sometimes we slow dance together at work. He isn’t afraid to say how he feels, he isn’t afraid of me and I think that’s why I chose to love him.
I have dreams of certain people still. I don’t know why. And they still stuck in my head most of the time.
But when my baby holds my hand and tells me about his day, I realize I’m sharing my life with someone who genuinely wants to be in it.
He makes me feel beautiful. Loved. Understood. And valued.
I made this up because I knew you were reading my blog and you deleted me right after I had posted it. Which literally confirmed my suspicions but also made me so upset
I miss you the most tho
“We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.”
— Chuck Klosterman (via dahmer—-domination)

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Every single say since the night of my birthday, regardless that I have been avoiding you or keeping things short, you have made an effort to tell me “hello” .. every single day since the night of my birthday.
I know you’ve realized you hurt me. But you can’t go around telling other people about your guilt or your mistake or how it wasn’t your fault, how your innocence is vital to the circumstance.
You can’t keep blaming her, pointing fingers and calling names.
You’re a man of masculinity, with broad shoulders and arms, limber, strong. Not until then did I realize how you tower over me. I felt so small since.
You’re afraid of my scorn. Afraid you’re fingers will burn if you touch me. That my words will strike you down like missile fire. That my anger will melt your wings and you’ll fall into the depths of self loathing.
But whenever something funny happens I wish I could tell you. When I need help, you’re the first person I seek. I mean, don’t you remember the times when we would joke
“What would you do without me, Anne Marie”
“Oh what would I do without you, Jesse”
I wish for you to build the courage. I need you.
*edit* holy shit this was in my drafts, this is GREAT EXAMPLE
Honestly, if and when I start making bank all I'm going to do is invest in my hobbies, other ways of making more money, traveling and buying over dramatic items of clothing
nothing's never going to be enough for me
I remember when we couldn't find you for four days, so we checked for you at every psych ward until we did. This happened a lot the past two years, you'd disappear but we'd know exactly where you'd be. It became a routine, just like how we'd have to put on the child locks whenever you were in the car. It was around Valentine's Day when we put together a care package for you this time. Flower seeds for you to plant, a pail and a shovel, even a a little mermaid doll because she was your favorite. When you got out you told us about how crazy everyone was. How this one guy tired to set the place on fire... multiple times.
My father, while raising us on his own, made numerous suicide attempts. I think the one that affected me the most was when he took his shot gun down to sunset cliffs and tried to off himself. I remember he was crying a lot that day, to a point that he started packing things in the car while in tears. I remember he told us he was going somewhere and that our mother was coming by soon to watch us. He held us one by one crying and telling us how much he loved is. He wouldn't tell us where he was headed and wouldn't confirm if he was coming back but I knew the last item he had wrapped up in sheets was his shot gun because late at night, when everyone was asleep, I would go into the closet and unravel the fabric. I would trace the weapon with my finger tip, sometimes even hold it in my hands. I always wondered why he had it. I was 8. My older sister and my 2 year old brother nothing of it. But I knew something was wrong. Obviously my mom never came by, god knows where she was and what was more in important than coming home to your children after your—

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Run on sentences because I'm lazy
I miss all the strong, loving connections I've had with so many people before and I'm lowkey feeling guilty about fucking things up with people, purposely and selfishly, but also I really don't care at the same time so now I'm wondering why I'm like this and what's wrong with my psyche but then I remember who raised me 1) my overly emotional bitch ass father 2) my icy, heartless snake of a mother and I've never experienced the stability of emotions it's either I'm feeling at 900% or nothing at all and now I'm here trying to be a healthy influence in a romantic relationship but all I attract toxic people I never win the timing is never right I just want to make things right for once sometimes I just want someone to hurt me because I feel like that's what I deserve for doing all that I've done which is a lot
“When wealth is passed off as merit, bad luck is seen as bad character. This is how ideologues justify punishing the sick and the poor. But poverty is neither a crime nor a character flaw. Stigmatize those who let people die, not those who struggle to live.”
Sarah Kendzior

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you’ve seen the dog outside of town, lying where they buried the witches