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@daringdangerwrites
I don't know if I can be your friend while I still love you I don't think I can stop loving you either, I can't even escape you you're in everything I do, everything I know, everything I touch. If you don't love me, I'm not sure I can even know you Which means I can't know my friends, because you know them too. I can't know my passions. My creations, my hobbies, even my favorite foods. Because you're a part of my life. All of it.
I just want to be loved.
I love you so so much. I can be what you need, what I need. We're so good together, I don't get why you're giving it all up now. You're so special. Special to me. I want to walk through life with you, through happiness, sadness, all of it. Why is this the breaking point.? Why?
Kingston WA, USA 19JUN2026, from the deck of MV Walla Walla
Soon there will be no one left in my life. I'll die the only truer death than death itself, being forgotten.
I'm never going to be desirable physically, emotionally, romantically, or sexually. I'm mediocre and replaceable.
I'm so fucking jealous i want to throw up. Fucking bullshit. God.
Here's a universal truth, humans are liars, you'll be lied to by everyone in your life, even your closest friends. How you handle it is up to you.
I'm poison. I destroy everything I touch. I'm not evil, or bad, or broken. Just poison. Just alone. Always.
Sometimes I really get the call to burn it all down, and vanish to a new city without a trace.
Dude my life has felt so empty as of late. I'm so out of it I'm not even mad I'm not writing. And Believe me I am an expert at being mad about that. It doesn't even feel like I'm depressed, I've just gone full automaton. I don't feel anything. I don't feel human.
I'm ending my D&D campaign of 5 years next Friday, so that's a massive anxiety on my mind this week. Like, what the fuccccck
IT HAPPENED AGAIN
Another Thing I made up for Home Means Nevada is real.
This is from CHAPTER ONE! I wrote this in April 2021. This can't. Keep. Happening. If it does the United States collapses in 2028 FYI
A chain exists on my ankle for anothers comfort. I protest a lot, call out a lot I know.
Some time ago I said I'd continue to do this, exist this way, as a strange, final act of love for someone.
I don't love that person anymore. But I realize I do care about the promises I make. Most of the people I made that promise to are ghosts, and the rest are different.
But I really care about my loyalty. So here I am dragging my chain along as a memento mori for friendships past.
Death and loss are things to be respected. The past not forgotten. The people who created my chain are gone. But it's wearer isn't.
Memento mori, remember death. I will march on and the promise that forged my chains is a part of me.
And to those long gone. Am I keeping my word well enough? Are you proud of me?
I hope you're proud.
I think I may never move past what happened to me. I've been angry and envious so long. Any interruption in those emotions is replaced by ennui. It'll be two years this year and I'm still broken. I'm still uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm still unsafe in my own head.
The ball and chain on my ankle is all I have left.
And anyone who knows what happened would probably assume by reading this "oh DD hasn't changed or tried to improve herself at all." And I hate that idea the most. I've had so much to forgive. No one more than myself. I'm not delusional about my part in what happened.
What I'm talking about is the lies that surround it all. That people would rather do anything but communicate with me. The mental hoops people go through to not communicate. That's why I'm still angry 18 months later.
It's true. I'm the one with OCD and depression that made me act in a way that hurt people and myself. But I'm not evil. My heart isn't black, and you can't paint it that way. I'm kind, generous, willing to be vulnerable, to listen to communicate.
I'll peel your goddamn paint off of myself with dirty fingernails till I die with this chain around my ankle.
And I'm fucking afraid to be myself now. I second guess everything I do, because I have OCD and it's super convinced everything I do could hurt someone.
I was closed off before but now I'm a homebody who's closed herself completely in save for work and the occasional dark room party. And I just wallflower at those because my OCD tells me I can't do anything else.
And I hate being alone at home. I have ugly unromantic depression and my house is cluttered and unfucking pleasant because of it.
I'm afraid to have friends now. Afraid to express myself fully to the ones I have. Afraid to be the goddamn human firework I'm supposed to be.
But at least I've got my fucking chains right? I
I think I may never move past what happened to me. I've been angry and envious so long. Any interruption in those emotions is replaced by ennui. It'll be two years this year and I'm still broken. I'm still uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm still unsafe in my own head.
The ball and chain on my ankle is all I have left.
And anyone who knows what happened would probably assume by reading this "oh DD hasn't changed or tried to improve herself at all." And I hate that idea the most. I've had so much to forgive. No one more than myself. I'm not delusional about my part in what happened.
What I'm talking about is the lies that surround it all. That people would rather do anything but communicate with me. The mental hoops people go through to not communicate. That's why I'm still angry 18 months later.
It's true. I'm the one with OCD and depression that made me act in a way that hurt people and myself. But I'm not evil. My heart isn't black, and you can't paint it that way. I'm kind, generous, willing to be vulnerable, to listen to communicate.
I'll peel your goddamn paint off of myself with dirty fingernails till I die with this chain around my ankle.
I think I may never move past what happened to me. I've been angry and envious so long. Any interruption in those emotions is replaced by ennui. It'll be two years this year and I'm still broken. I'm still uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm still unsafe in my own head.
The ball and chain on my ankle is all I have left.