hey guys this is a long rant//sometimes i feel so hopeless that i feel that there’s nothing left of me. sometimes i feel like my life has been stripped of the happiness. i know that sounds depressing but it’s true..i feel like no matter how hard i try things only get worse. i’m eating just a little everyday..i feel like 1)i don’t deserve food 2)i feel extremely fat. my life has been getting a little (more like a ton) harder and it’s hard for me to deal with:/i have blades and i want to go back and do what i’ve always done when i was sad but ik i can’t. i’m too mentally tired anyways. i’m drained i’m living off barely any sleep ughhh things just aren’t going so well. i’m so excited where i can get to a point in my life and just be extremely happy! but rn it’s too had-if anyone wants to talk or anything i’m here for you!! stay strong my loves🥀
-Maybe it’s not the person I’m so worried about...maybe it’s the thought of being alone for too long. Knowing that no one will be there for me when I fall down to my deepest depths. No one to help me from drowning in the dark abyss I am in. Pulling me down further and further till it’s hard to breathe to the point where I am just suffocating doing...nothing. Is it too wrong to just want someone to make you feel less lonely in this world? Is it wrong to want to feel comfort, secure, warmth, happiness, or maybe even a sense of feeling like I’m not the only one who’s suffering the way I am? Sure there are people with worse things out there but...its not the same excruciating pain and suffering I’m going through. -
She doesn't paint Dandelion's anymore. The first time she slopped the mustard tint of the yellow weed was at youth. That was, until her mother raised her voice a little too high and a little too arrogant and a little too annoyed. Soon came water lilies and teenage lust. She tried to float along the lily pads as a passing koi, eager to find why she had fins, but her pond grew vacant with evaporated mist. She doesn't paint water lilies anymore. Time grew vines, and ivy glistened in her veins. She yearned for that beauty, and tried to pull it out. When her ivy crimsoned she buried it far away from human touch, so she doesn't paint ivy anymore. Thorns appeared in her eyelids after that, and an elegant, soft rose appeared at the basin of her tongue. Every once in awhile she opens up her eyes to be indented with tarnished thorns, but the blood seeped down into the crevices of her waterlines and pain became too realistic to cope. She cried out, "Please! Someone! I need someone to love me! Please." But her damage was too strong, her gypsy heart fluttered too briefly, her scars were too white, and her eyes were too red. "Please," She whispered. The petals of her lips grew dry, and ruby grew vintage. One by one, the masterpieces got caught in the wind. A tornado of color bursted in her life for the first time. And then-a pile of petals.