Hollow Eyes Watching The Crowd

Its not all men!!!

Your post is so fucked up! And you Did go to Girls school so why bother even sayin boys did go! If there tranns then it's still girlsJust stupidd

I don't even know where to begin with this. I never said it was all men. I know my post isnt positive, it's not meant to be considering I'm writing about the actions of perverse male teachers towards young girls. And yes I did go to a girls school, but not every student was a girl.

girlie that's not a random headache u are dehydrated malnourished over caffeinated over stressed and sleep deprived

I just have to say something. Omg. I read your most recent post and I've reread it so many times tonighy, and maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived but it made me ugly cry so hard and I couldn't stop going back to it, like it's so surreal and I'm sorry.

AH I'm sorry!! Thankyou for reading it and it's okay I'm okay, I haven't seen him in years. 💚

A Reminder to take care of yourself, drink some water, get some sleep and do something that makes you happy.

The icecream man is driving down my street with the song playing loud and I'm Feeling intense nostalgia, for the childhood I still cling to. I feel it melting away, it's cool softness turning watery, slipping between my fingers.

I just awoke from a nightmare. Absolutely horrendous I tell you. There was a koala sized rat/tarantula hybrid and it kept running at me and clamping it's fangs into my hands. This being. This fiend just wouldn't let up, it was relentless, I have phantom pains in my hands. But To be fair it might have just been extremely pissed off and offended, because the moment it toppled out of a backpack, I gagged and held up a blanket like it was garlic and a cross.

I want to write about the pain of it all, I want to write about the people I qued with outside of food banks; there was an old man who looked like a wise wizard with his long white hair, he waited for a small portion of pasta most days and offered me advice on the best times to turn up, there was a group of polish men with cans of alcohol shared between them, who at first assumed I was polish aswell and tried to talk to me, but all I could say was Przepraszam, nie wiem Polski the old man told me to stand next to him after that, there was also a brother and sister who where both addicted to heroine, most days they seemed to be going through intense withdrawals. We would all wait in a old medieval churchyard, some sat on toppled headstones while others leaned against stone angels with their faces covered. I want to write about what complete isolation and poverty does to you, how eyes don't meet yours and voices talk over you. But when I do, the room goes quiet and people look away, suddenly i feel the need to awkwardly laugh and say so yeah anyway.

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers. ❣️

It's probably a bit sad that I can't think of 5 off the top of my head. But the quiet moments when there are no worries or things to do hiding on the back burner. When it's raining so heavily outside it feels like the safest warmest place on earth is your bed, and so you lay there with only that thought and feeling for a little while and it's enough. Enough to make the hard things worth it.

Does anyone else feel a bit overwhelmed when a post u make gets more notes than your used to, like there's hundreds of people just suddenly in your room looking over your shoulder at your Mediocr post and by exstention you.

I can't think about you for too long, but sometimes you climb out of my Amygdala and I let your face press against my prefronal cortex. Your presence is mostly wrapped in bubbler wrap, hidden in a back room, somewhere near the things I can't talk about and the things I should have. I've quietly closed the door, but it's not locked, I don't think it ever will be, I don't think I want it be. But that room isn't a place I like to visit, it only holds you and the things that shouldn't have happened.