2025 Came from Hell

I’m in need of the veil of the internet. (I cannot afford therapy and I’m on the verge of having a breakdown akin to one I had at 16 and it took years to recover)

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August 6th, 2025

Happy birthday.

Happy twenty-four years on this planet.

Happy first birthday in almost five years without me.

My gift to you this year is grueling; it is soul-crushing, heart breaking—freeing.

The hardest thing about pulling the plug on us was how much I would have rather done anything else.

The blade that cut the deepest was coming to terms with the weight of the truth: I would have dismissed every lie; turned my nose up to any indiscretion. If I found our home on fire, and it was you holding the match, I would have burned my own hands to take the blame.

The most disturbing realization was had halfway through me slicing my own life line: No matter how many times your actions ripped tears from my eyes, no matter how many tiny cuts your words made on my skin.

No matter how many bodies you gave yours to, no matter how long my intellect wilted till it died, no matter how many times the flowers I never got wilted and rotted away—

No matter how hard you shoved my head into the pillow and made me be the version of myself you kept on display in your mind. Now matter how many times I ripped out my organs to give you my devotion…

It wouldn’t be enough until the blue was gone from my eyes. You would have taken my chances until I bled myself dry. While you slept like an angel, I took the brunt of your demons. While you stretched in the warm light of my love, I shrunk myself to fit the overbearing shadow of your mother.

I’m still here bleeding; still scooping up my intestines with the leaves and dirt. I can taste my dried sweat as the rain washes me clean.

When I looked down and noticed my words gushing from my nose, when I gasped and felt my prose leaking from my ears, when even the simplest rhymes bled from my eyes—I knew I had nothing left to give. I left because even my barely cold, fresh, actively dying corpse could not and would not ever satiate you.

You can have my body, my barely there soul, my love letters, even the most private crevices of my brain. But my sentences, my paragraphs, my metaphors, my stories—my pen and paper are for me and no one else.

But you didn’t even want them all to yourself.

You wanted them dead.

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I think I’ve thought about him a thousand times in the past five days; I’m on the tail end of my cycle, but it isn’t animalistic thinking.

It’s me yearning for that shy sweetness—the warmth and safety of being wrapped in the arms of someone who sees and knows and loves my mind. So is it him, or is it just that he’s the only person I’ve ever fully gotten that from?

But I know what happens when you hook on something twenty-five feet in the past and dredge it up. It isn’t the same shiny thing you remember—it’s rotted, damaged, slimy, the skin of what you knew sloughing off and revealing the decayed insides within the corpse of your point of view.

Then I think of the day he broke my heart and remember how before that distraction, I’d experienced the best day of my life at that point in time.

Am I grasping at straws?

Desperately snatching at ripples in still water?

Am I really genuinely going in circles; eating my own tail until I choke and die on my own cycles of failure?

And then am I sitting here wasting my lunch break, painstakingly following the track of red thread across the map of my heart? Have I helped myself down the spiral staircase of my insanity while he’s easy breathing, soaking in the experiences that the places you can’t pronounce has to offer?

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So it turns out that after you cry for hours uncontrollably due to 🍄 gummies, you can genuinely just decide to stop doing that thing that you’ve been doing for years that sets you back mentally and emotionally every time you do it. Crazy.

Edit: 8/5/25- I take this back. I took the blank canvas and used it to paint the same stupid picture all over again lmfaooo.

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I’m free bleeding from an open wound in my chest.

The knife of being abandoned with my books got pulled from its home of infection and tetanus, and somehow, after decades of life growing around it, there’s gallons of hurt pouring from the gash.

Now I’m once again a teenager, frantically dashing my eyes from face to face, idiotically hoping they’ll find yours. People older and wiser would scoff at the absurdity; the thought that even though you weren’t here to witness it, the ruin my newly kicked out tenant has left me in, or the one to even do it, I still expect to see you walk through those double doors and wrap me up in healing.

I’m old and wise enough to roll my eyes at my own delusion: That even though your desk in my brain was vacated for years, I’m sitting here still as a stone waiting for you to glimmer into the empty space in front of me, simply because I dusted off your name plate.

How redundant.

[bagofr-0-gs]

If someone(s) is doing something that you don’t like, word of advice, don’t wait until you’ve pent up enough rage that when you finally say something to that person(s) you semi go off on them. That’s how you get the thing that annoyed you done to you purposefully and with much more violence.

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To the owner of the company I work for: No, my large dirty dr. pepper with cherries added is not low calorie or low sugar……..when you have to break up with your ex A G A I N because he just…didn’t get it I guess idfk then you can judge me.

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Not prolonged crash out related, but why is Rasputin’s pet bat giving midwestern gay when the story takes place in Germany??

This isn’t criticism I’m obsessed and would like to know who okayed that decision lmfaooo

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I’m sorry that mentally, in the dark rooms, in the creaks and crevices, under old rocks, buried beneath the grass, past the ancient meadows, through the sparkling river, and at the top of the mighty hill, I’m still 16 learning how to hand sew scrunchies. I was not aware that that was a punishable offense.

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Recently got out of an almost 5 year relationship. Please tell me the urge to go batshit insane goes away.

I feel like I haven’t processed it but also it’s one of the two things I think about constantly. The second being I’ve gone more of my life without sex than with it…..surely I can overcome ✨the horny✨

That’s my cue to stop typing.

[bagofr-0-gs]

On a slightly different note, if my sister took the man I loved after knowing him for less than 2 months and then CUT UP MY DEAD MOTHERS WEDDING DRESS…..I’d be in jail for at least 72 hours. Are you serious???!!!

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Rewatching “27 Dresses” for the first time in a while and so far (7:25 in) I have questions. The main one being:

HOW LONG WERE THOSE 2 WEDDINGS SHE WAS GOING TO??!!

She went back and forth at least 5 times, enough times to put on the wrong shoes and forget to take off the bindi, were those weddings like 6 hours long??? Or do I just not know how long weddings usually are? It just seems absurd.

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If you are live on TikTok looking like a carbon copy of the character Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds and I just politely say that you look like her

Don’t be mad at me about it.

In fact, you should take it with pride.

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Fall is here!! Except it’s because it’s so goddamn hot outside the leaves are drying up and dying!!! 🤪🤪🤪

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*me, depressed*

*commercial for a pill that you take w antidepressants to give it a boost*

*narrator continues to list a full range of side effects that I’d honestly just rather be depressed permanently than have*

🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥

[bagofr-0-gs]

Guys you don’t understand. Hozier existing is causing my brain to think the guy I loved in high school is secretly still pining for me…and i am

Unwell

[bagofr-0-gs]

the ✨feminine✨ urge to….

rage sob when you find out the average American CEO makes the average yearly salary of some Joe Schmo working his ass off until he falls apart by only working for 7 hours 🥹😭 😱🫠

[4ugust]

friendly reminder that in 86 days we get more pictures like these: