Strawberry Smoke, Watching Hockey, Reading Good Books, Ice Skating, The Best Dessert I’ve Ever Had

the urge to bleed out on the bathroom floor while music plays in the background

i literally go to sleep and have dreams that you come back to me. i know you aren’t even thinking of me. i cant figure out which part hurts worse.

we're all under the same moon, and that's enough for me.

god life has been so messy lately, take me back to a month ago.

tonight the black hole where my heart is supposed to be feels as if it will eat me alive.

i just wish to be perceived as gentle and kind. that’s it, that is truly all i want.

it hurts to know this will never be.

(1.30.23) - head hanging out the second story window, i let the strawberry smoke fill my lungs. i glance at my watch. 120. it hasn’t lowered all day. i tell myself that it’s just a bad day, that i’ll quit again tomorrow.

the pennsylvanian winter chill hits my face when the breeze blows. there’s a bird calling that i recognize but can’t quite place right now. texts from my only two friends lay unanswered because i don’t know how to tell them what i’m feeling.

i silently wonder if the devil ever feels cursed. if he too sometimes didn’t have the strength in him, because being rotten at the core is truly exhausting.

an ache of pain disturbs the thought. the all consuming anxiety follows. this semester feels as if it will kill me. learning to walk again while desperately trying to memorize an entire taxonomic language is just too much.

i try to glamorize it, to revel in the tasks the women in my books love. to tell myself that this is the life of a girl in the scribe quadrant, that dragons are real and true love exists.

my cat jumps up, she sticks her head out too and sniffs the breeze. she is the only solace my soul finds these days, her and the fluffy stories i fill my head with when i try to outrun these thoughts. the ones where i have a friend group who loves me like family and a man who sees the stars in my eyes. the stories where i am not seen as a monster, but as gentle and kind.

i want to die, to be quite honest. i am in the wrong reality. there is no found family waiting for me, nor a man to write me letters assuring me that i am nothing but angelic golden light. there is just fatherly pain and the weight of the world on my shoulders.

i hate being alone. i cannot stand it for some reason when the thoughts are bad. it’s just me and the voices tn fr :/

i cant even write about it, i tried, too many memories of being locked up in facilities. i know everything is all in that damn notebook but i don’t know if i dare look at it.

i was so real for this

something visceral about my mom sadly looking at me and quietly saying “do you think your dad would have done the same if it was you instead of your sister?”

sometimes the validation that i am and will always be the scapegoat child hurts