February 2012
restyoursoulandfeedyourbrain asked: omg ***~~txt it~~**** but seriously. text me.
Reality.
REALITY ONE.
I’m at home. My purple graduation cap and gown hang on a hanger behind my door. My diploma is framed and empty of memories.
A few miles away, my friends are graduating.
I wasn’t invited.
REALITY TWO.
.
Expectations.
EXPECTATION ONE Saturday, January 28, 2012
I’m outside the Garland Special Events Center, its white pillars extending toward the sky like the arms of a snow-covered tree. It’s sunny, and the bright light from the sun is reflecting off of the pavement, shooting into my eyes.
There’s the sea of blank and gold exiting from the grand building, dispersing with screams as they see...
Too much to handle.
I can’t deal with the cards dealt. I feel this immense amount of anger and irritation towards EVERYONE, and it feels like it’s only getting worse. I feel people talking about me. I don’t have to see them try to, I just know that they do. I also know that I shouldn’t be bothered by it, but I am. I never knew I’d have that problem. Tears want to pour from my eyes like...
I hate this.
I hate today.
I hate the things I thought.
I hate the things I said.
I hate the things I did.
I hate the things I wanted.
And still do.
I hate this.
I hate this.
I need help.
I need actual help.
Too cool for you.
Christine: Post dis bitch. Go for it.
Me: Where should I start??
Christine: No idea. Anywhere you like it, baby.
Me: I'll tag you in it, sexy.
Christine: Whoa, tagging? I don't know if I'm ready for this next step in our relationship.
Me: Don't worry, babe, I think we're more than ready, haha.
Christine: I like this kind of tumblin. It's dirty.
Me: Me, too. I have the glove. You ready to reblog?
Christine: You've already got the glove? Let's do dis.
Me: Yeah, but I need this post to go out there hard. It's really long.
Christine: Do you need me to clock it to get it harder? I may make it spam all over my blog.
Me: That's okay. I can write it up myself. My hands are already busy working.
Christine: Okay, I'm done with this joke. I might as well just tumbl naked.
We're cool.
Christine: Awkward moment when my scissors actually cut paper.
Me: SERIOUSLY. Awkward moment when my eyes blink.
Christine: Awkward moment when my printer prints.
Me: Awkward moment when my book has words.
Christine: Awkward moment when my calculator calculates.
Me: Awkward moment when a rainbow has colors.
Christine: Awkward when I have to poop in a public bathroom...wait..wut.
Me: OR awkward moment when I have to fart in public.
Christine: Farting in public is a skill. You have to learn to control it, not make it loud and make sure you crop dust it.
Me:
In Dreams and Flaming Pudding!!
Oh, Chambers....
I don't want to get hurt anymore.
Everything hurts. All of who and what I am is in pain, and I want it to stop. I’m tired of all of this. I just want to lay down and sleep.
In the past six days, I’ve had less than fourteen hours of sleep. I can’t say I’ve been doing well at all.
God, make it stop.
This life is getting harder.
How much more can I take?
The hours now are passing.
I’ll cry before I wake.
I will scream before I sleep tonight,
Yell into the sky.
I will breathe in all the anger, now
A farewell before I die.
This life is getting harder.
I can’t take anymore.
In my heart, I know this:
I just can’t.
I just can’t.
Dysthymia.
so accurate, omg.
british boys: hey babe, how are you? you look lovely today
american boys: whaddup shawty you lookin good winna winna chicken dinna hellz yeah lets get naked
NO ONE CARES
NO ONE
NO ONE
NO ONE
NO ONE
I NEED TO RUN
I NEED TO GET OUT
I NEED TO LEAVE
I CAN’T DO THIS
I CAN’T
I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE
No one cares.
Why should I care anymore.
I hate this.
restyoursoulandfeedyourbrain asked: I died all ready. Can I just start tomorrow? xD