My writing and creativity are probably more than toxic. The way I write is a coping mechanism, for anxieties and depressive episodes. Its so hard to write without them. So my entire basis of a dream is based on poor mental health. Without it, I cant write. But I don’t want it. But I want to write. I love to write. But the best of it comes from my lowest points. I have put myself in horrible states of mind to put out writing I can be proud of. But now, I’m getting happy. Im improving. Theres no writing though. I feel no need to. But I want to so bad, I just cant. And thats hurting me the most right now. I finally crave to do something good, but I just cant because I am happy. A horrible reality.
loved, o.m.f
I feel this on every level of my soul
















