Okay we'll do our best! I want your honest opinion on a weak will and stony facial expressions and eating like a caveman and weird ideas on gender and putting on lots of makeup to make others comfortable and wearing something CUTE and listening to podcasts about adulthood and voting socialist and not having friends and knowing people don't want you there but if you don't show up they'll just talk crap about you and size M being large for Asian women and all this sadness that does a bad job coping with rejection and the surrounding air of paranoia that yields into self-importance and god-like status and the likelihood of boring the person reading this.
scrappy posted a quote
September 29, 2017 12:16am EDT
I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want people trying to “fix” me or trying to “help” me. I want to be left alone. I want to be understood. And I want to be able to do what I want. Am I strong enough to overcome self infliction? Am I strong enough to keep the monsters inside me at bay? No. No, probably not. But I’ll be damned if I let them stay. So I’ll give up this time, like I always do.. and let them pass through. Then, I’ll be okay for a little while. Then, I’ll finally be fine. Sooner or later, they’ll come back though. They always do..
I think I should nail these moments of happiness to the table, or maybe just stitch them to my skin. I can’t seem to remember happiness in the same way I remember sadness. Sadness burns and aches and forces me to notice it. Contentment evaporates and leaves me wondering if it happened at all. Sadness is deep in me, in my heart and in the curls of my hair and it begs to be remembered.
☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾ I want to grow up, and move out, and fill my work desk with plants I take care of better than I take care of myself. I want to drive away and change my name so it can mean something and I can too. I want breathing to be easy. I want to hurt when the sun sets, not when it rises. I want to grow into my ears, and out of my clothes, stop wanting stupid tattoos and picturing myself laying on train tracks. ☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾
☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾ I'm terribly sorry for my absence, you see I was a touch too busy for witty. I fell in love with someone nearly a year ago, and to this day, I get excited for every single date, but I'm still trying to figure out how to write about being happy. ☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾
“ I miss the old sadness. I miss the cries of breaking a leg. I miss the feeling of not getting what you want, the feeling of fighting with a friend, with a sibling. I miss that sadness because this sadness, this grief, makes everything else feel small. I don’t know those feelings anymore because the feeling of the loss of someone you love…it’s unlike any sadness I’ve felt before. I don’t want this sadness, this sorrow. I miss the old sadness. ” (( E.M. ))
i remember when my days were long and full of joy, accompanied by the laughter of children and the gentle creak of an old swingset. i remember when my biggest decision was what flavor of popsicle i could successfully eat without getting brainfreeze or which doll I would dress up in her summer clothes. i miss the days where i was carefree. i miss the laughs. i miss the time my friends and i had. i miss the happiness of my parents before life had made them worn and weary. i miss me. i miss the child who was blissfully unaware of the strain that life puts on you. i am now just as worn as my parents are, only younger and easily adaptable. but i have seen the world through the news and through stories and i have heard enough to see that the world is a sad, sad place, full of weary adults and blissfully unaware children just like me. i am not the only one suffering.
She looked in the mirror and mumbled strings of thought together, however incoherent they might be. A frail, greying figure looked back, too young to have looked the way she did, and she knew it. She saw the haunted look in her eyes, the veins etching themselves like tattoos under her skin. She saw a shell of her former self. They colorless body stood almost still in the mirror, the only movement coming from her chest when she breathed in shallow breaths, like the task had become too painful for her to bear. The boy stood behind her, horrified. "I am a shell," she spoke quietly. The boy said nothing. "I am afraid," she whispered again. "Of what?" He questioned back. His voice was strong, clear, assertive. Her voice was raspy, weak, and monotone. "Myself," she stated in a bland tone before collpasing to the floor. - Except of a book I'll never write
the feeling of despair and sadness seep through my brain, slowly creeping into the back of my mind, leading my thoughts to a sudden stop. oh. my hands rush to the tissues, taking two or three at once. hurriedly wiping at the spilled coffee that quickly spread over my computer. the screen flickers on to off off to on screen flickers once more, before giving a sigh, a sputter, and then black.