I Miss You. I Love You. I Want You Here And It Hurts That You Aren't.

tired and full of void

sometimes i worry that people think i’m a furry for all of the dog imagery. it’s more about how bpd makes you feel subhuman, that it rots your brain and turns you into some wild animal. not that being a furry wouldn’t be dope as fuck, but that’s not me i’m just mentally ill and like symbolism.

i was just a kid, how is any of this fair?

having trauma flashbacks when my bf is sleeping next to me is the worst. like i want to wake him up so i can be held but also he is baby and needs to be sleeping???

womp womp :(

sad sad girl, smoking to lana all on her lonesome

Uriel- Angel of Repentance

I had to go and find an angelic pseudonym for you. What better the angel of sincere regret? Dearest Uriel, my hardest love and loss, I don't quite know what to do. So here is another letter I can't send. You don't know about this place, or atleast I hope you don't because my first name for you wasn't all that secretive at all (and it broke my code name tradition, but it's very fitting, isn't it?). Every damn song is about you these days, the farther you shove me away the more it drives my mentally ill mind insane. And that was how it always was, wasn't it? I just want an admission. A flat out declaration. I need to know what you think, what you feel. I don't even know why but I just feel like I need to. They say ignorance is bliss, but I've always been a more "curiosity kills the cat" kind of girl. Do you still have love for me the way I do you? Does it kill you, this distance (in all sense of the word) between us? Because I feel like I'm dying at your feet all over again. Back in that horrid space where I don't want to text out of fear of annoyance, but wanting your attention on me. You drive my BPD insane. Truly, madly, deeply insane. You always did and I fear you always will. I don't know what to do Uriel, I don't know what I want or need from you- but whatever we're doing isn't it. You were the one who stared into the depths of my cast-from-heaven soul, and didn't shy away. You were there for me when I was sent straight to hell, and now I fear that bonds me to you eternally. What do I do Uriel? How can I escape these demonic feelings? How do we recover from this? Will we ever?

i’m splitting on you so hard my sebastian wilder it’s not even funny

(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.

feeling v sub-human as of late. i’m not that scary to talk to i don’t think?? i know i have a disorder. i know i’m like a pitbull and everyone seems to think i eat toddlers. but i genuinely just want to talk to humans n have real friends for once,

like i love poetry, and folk & indie music, and playing ukulele. i love my gods and i read tarot sometimes and collect cool rocks. i have the cutest cats and want people to send pictures of them to. my favorite color is a muted tone of forest green.

i’m a pitbull, but i think i am a little human sometimes too. i promise the genes don’t make me a completely bad dog. someone just take a chance on me, im begging,

i hate being emotionally deregulated, why can’t people just care?