Self - listen up!!
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@dopa-keta-mine
Self - listen up!!
I keep thinking about self harm. Sat here scratching instead of cutting. I want to get it out. But this is not how. Need to get in the gym, fucking boxing, I need something why can't I make it a good thing?
there's not a single casual bone in my body. everything means something to me
literally
I DON'T WANT TO Feel LIKE THIS ANYMORE IF I FEEL NOTHING I FEEL NUMB AND EMPTY IF I FEEL I FEEL FUCKING SAD AND ANXIOUS I JUST WANT IT TI STOP ITS ALL TOO MUCH AND IM TIRED OF ALWAYS TRYING BUT WHAT ELSE CAN I DO BECAUSE IVE COME TOO FAR TO GO BACK
top 3 hobbies for young adults:
1. borrowing misery from future
2. carrying grief of the past
3. agonizing over the present
I feel fucking low and it won't go away
I feel anxious and on edge 99% of the time atm
I can't shake this feeling
what doesn't kill you makes you weird at intimacy
i fucking hate having EUPD like I rationally have made peace with the situation but the thought of seeing him now for weed has me in fucking overwhelming emotion and it's actually stupid because like for why? It is what is, like stop feeling the shitty things now, he's said sorry like why are emotions so intense and ILLOGICAL
MAY YOU NEVER LOSE YOUR HYPERFIXATION
you don’t have to be “getting better” all the time.
some days are quiet victories. getting out of bed. drinking water. answering one message. choosing to stay.
healing isn’t linear, it’s messy and slow and sometimes it feels like you’re going backwards—but you’re not. you’re learning how to exist in a world that doesn’t always feel made for you.
you are allowed to rest. you are allowed to feel everything. you are allowed to take up space even when you’re struggling.
And even if your brain is loud right now, even if it’s telling you things that aren’t kind, you don’t have to believe it.
You’re still here. That counts for more than you think. 🤍
Lifelines
I don't write because I have something to say I write because the silence starts saying it for me
Because my thoughts don't walk they spiral loose threads in a storm drain tangled in what-ifs and almosts and things I should've said ten years ago to someone who wouldn't have listened anyway
So I write
I write to pin them down like butterflies I don't even want to keep just to prove they were real that I left something sharp enough to leave a mark
Each word is a small rebellion against forgetting
Each line a fragile little bridge over a place I almost fell through
Sometimes it's ugly ink like a confession dragged through gravel sentences that limp metaphors that break under their own weight
But they hold god, they hold
And on the nights when everything feels like it's slipping names, faces, reasons I can trace myself back through the pages
Here I was angry
Here I was in love
Here I survived something I still don't have a name for
These are my lifelines not clean, not straight but stubborn
Proof that I was here Proof that I made it one word further that I thought I could
How that addiction looks when I'm at my lowest: